Season of Song
by ElouiseBates
Summary: Fifteen-year-old Gwen Blake and her three siblings are spending a year with Grandmother and Grandfather Blythe at Ingleside while their parents are in India. What surprises does the Glen have in store for them during this year? NOT Meggie compliant!
1. Chapter 1

When Gwen Blake heard that her parents were going to India for the year, and she and her three younger siblings were going to spend the year with Grandmother and Grandfather Blythe at Ingleside, she met the news with mixed feelings.

First and foremost was disappointment. How she would have loved to spend a year in India! The land of Kipling's _Kim_, that exotic, far-off place where Aunt Una lived and worked as a missionary.

"But you see, darling," Mother explained, "We can't possibly afford to take all four of you, though we'd dearly love to if we could! And if we can't take all of you—"

"You certainly can't take just one. I know," Gwen finished for her. She smiled lovingly at Mother—dear, sweet Mums, more chum than parent these days, now that Gwen was nearly fifteen. Mums, with her beautiful red hair just as vibrant as it was when _she_ was fifteen, and her green eyes as loving, and her lithe figure just as trim as though she hadn't had four babies in the first four years of her marriage!

"_What_ we were thinking, I don't know," she used to say laughingly, shaking her head. But then she would pull them all close to her in a giant hug and insist she wouldn't have it any other way.

If Gwen couldn't go to India with Mother and Dad, then she was glad to be going to Ingleside. She had no particular love for her home there in Kingsport. It was the manse Dad's church provided, but it wasn't theirs, and it had never felt like a home the way Ingleside did, or the House of Dreams where Uncle Shirley and Aunt Persis lived, or Uncle Bruce and Aunt Ruth's Westwind.

Nor did Gwen feel any compunction about leaving her school and her friends for a year. She didn't have any _close_ friends among her schoolmates—some girl chums, but no kindred spirits, as Grandmother was wont to say. Gwen was the sort of girl everyone liked _well enough_, but not enough to be a bosom friend. If there was a party, they wanted Gwen there. If it was a matter of talking secrets, she was left out.

Sometimes Gwen wondered why this was. It wasn't that she blabbed secrets, or ever betrayed a friendship!

"I think, dear heart, it's because you are too satisfied in your family," Aunt Jenny told her once. "Girls don't always like to be friends with someone who seems happier with her brothers and little sister than with lassies her own age."

"That's just silly," Gwen had said. "Of course I'm always going to love Lee and Phil and Jo the best, but that doesn't mean I can't love other people too."

Aunt Jenny had laughed and given her a hug and said that _she_ knew that, but schoolgirls weren't always so sensible. And then Jeremy had called Gwen out for a game of basketball, and she'd flown out the door, and Aunt Jenny thought that perhaps part of Gwen's problem was that she was just as happy to play sports with the boys as talk secrets with the girls, and had no dreams of romance yet filling that golden head.

Which was, her aunt reflected, just as well.

Thinking of Aunt Jenny and Uncle Jeremiah (never Jerry! He was very stern about that, and Gwen and her siblings never confused him with their Uncle Jerry on Mum's side, who was really Gerald) made Gwen realize that she would at least miss her Blake cousins, if nobody else. Jeremy was her age exactly, and her best friend who wasn't a brother or sister, and Patty and Rachel were almost as good. It would be dreadful to be separated from them for a year.

"I don't suppose Jeremy and the rest could come with us?" she suggested without much hope to Mum.

Mother laughed sympathetically. "No, dearest heart, I don't think they could. Aunt Jenny _did_ mention, however, the possibility that they might rent a house at Harbour Head this summer for a few weeks, so you'll at least see them then."

When Gwen was happy, her father often said, her smile produced enough power to light up the entire Canadian Maritimes. She turned that smile on her mother now, who, used to it though she was, still staggered a bit under its light. "Oh, that would be wonderful! That almost makes up for being separated from you and Dad for a whole year."

Mother and daughter both gave a sudden sigh at the thought.

"Never mind, Mums," Gwen said, recovering enough to pat her mother's arm. "I'll take good care of the kids, I promise."

"I know you will, darling."

"The kids" were Philip (named in honour of Dad's mother, the beautiful Philippa Gordon Blake), usually called Phil, age thirteen-and-a-half; Leslie, age twelve-and-a-half, and most often called Lee; and Jo, age eleven, who was only Josiah on his birth certificate and in the family Bible. When they heard the news, they reacted in typical manner.

Phil: "But Mother, how will you write your column for the paper in India?" And upon being told that she would do a special foreign version for a year, he calmly accepted that and began to pack.

Lee: "But what if I get homesick?" Mother comforted her by telling her that she would still have Gwen and her brothers, and that Grandmother, Grandfather, and all the aunts and uncles and cousins would do their part to keep her entertained. Lee was delighted at the thought of so much family around to love, and managed to push the thought of _no Mother and Dad_ into the back of her mind.

Jo: "Will you send letters? With stamps? And maybe pictures too, so I can show them to the boys at school so they'll like me?" Mother assured him she would, and then added that he wouldn't need all those things if he was just kind and friendly to all the other boys. Jo smiled calmly. "You have to say that because you're a minister's wife, Mumsie," he said, and patted her cheek.

And all of them, from Gwen down to Jo, determined to her or himself that she or he would do _nothing_ to make it harder for Mum and Dad to leave.

* * *

The usual agonies of packing—what to bring, what to leave, how much could one fit in a trunk, and how could one bear to leave _that_ treasure behind?—were increased tenfold by the fact that the children were going to be gone a full year. One year! Gwen was just starting to comprehend how long a year really was. Why … when Mum and Dad returned, she would be nearly sixteen. That was practically an adult!

She gulped down the stinging tears at the thought and turned her attention to Jo's dilemma of whether he should bring Teddy or Bluebell the Bunny, or whether a big boy of almost-twelve should leave his animals at home, after all.

"What if the other boys think I'm a sissy because of my animals?" he asked her worriedly.

Gwen knew that Teddy and Bluebell weren't just toys to her brother. They were his friends, his companions since birth; he whispered stories to them at night and insisted they understood every word he said.

"Bring them both, Jo-Jo, and we just won't tell the other boys about them. They can be our family secret."

Jo found the idea of a family secret satisfactory, but was scandalized at the thought of bringing both. Dad, alarmed at the thought of Jo's numerous prized possessions accompanying them everywhere, had long-ago issued the decree that Jo was only ever allowed to bring one item from each collection with him on family trips.

"It's a year, Jo, I don't think Dad will mind. If you like, I'll pack one in _my_ trunk, so it will be like I'm bringing one and you're bringing one, instead of you bringing both."

That satisfied Jo's ethics, and left dangling only the question of which animal would be subjected to riding in Gwen's trunk. Jo left her with the solemn declaration that he would ask his animals which one was willing to make that sacrifice, and before Gwen could think again of an entire year without Mum and Dad, Lee came bursting in.

Lee was the only one out of the four Blake children who had inherited her mother's looks. She had refused to let her mother bob her hair back when it was popular, and now her red curls fell almost to her waist. Unlike Mother, her grey-green eyes were dreamy instead of snapping, and with her pointed chin and high cheekbones gave her the look of an imaginative elf. "The picture of her grandmother at that age," Grandfather Blythe always said with satisfaction. Lee was the only grandchild with Grandmother's colouring—Isaac Ford had the red curls, but his eyes were hazel, like Aunt Rilla's and Grandfather's; Phil had the eyes that were grey or green depending on his mood, but his hair, like his siblings and his father, was a rich golden blond.

Grandfather sometimes called Lee "Little Anne," and Gwen suspected she was his favourite out of all his granddaughters—though of course Grandfather would never admit to having favourites!

Now, though, Lee's dreamy eyes were drowned in unshed tears.

"What's wrong, dearest?" Gwen asked, without much alarm. Lee was almost _too_ tender-hearted for her own good; not a day passed without her crying over something. Her siblings were all very gentle with her, but they never knew what would set her off. Once, even seeing a dog howling in the street had caused her to burst into tears over how very sad the poor thing must be.

"Oh Gwennie," Lee gasped, and it was a mark of how much they all loved her that Gwen let the babyish nickname pass without comment. Anyone else would have been _pummelled_ for calling her Gwennie. "Gwen, I just can't bear the thought of leaving school for a year. What if all my friends forget about me?"

Gwen sat down on the edge of her bed, ignoring the clothing scattered all over her pretty green and white bedspread, and smoothed Lee's curls out of her flushed face. "You can write them letters, darling, and if you being gone for only one year in enough for them to forget about you, they weren't true friends to begin with. Anyone who really loves you would never stop being your friend, not if you were gone for _ten_ years."

This comforted Lee, and she went back to her room to add stationary and her fountain pen to her bags.

Phil was the next one in, frowning at the wild confusion in Gwen's room. "This is no way to pack," he said sternly. "You're going to bring all sorts of things you don't need, and leave behind half of what you do. I wrote out a list for you," holding it out to her, "because I knew you wouldn't think to do it."

"Thank you, Phil," Gwen said meekly, taking the list and looking over Phil's neat handwriting. "Philip Blake!" she cried, scandalized. "You even wrote down what undergarments I should bring!"

"Of course," Phil said, unperturbed. "Knowing you, you'd forget about those and end up having to go naked underneath your skirts."

Gwen tried to glare at him, but her sense of humour got the best of her, and she collapsed in a heap of laughter. Phil couldn't see what was so funny, but he joined in agreeably, and when Mother came by to see how things were going, she smiled to see her two eldest piled atop each other, helpless with giggles.

As long as they had each other, they would be just fine.

* * *

The last few weeks flew by, and before they knew it, the Blakes were kissing their cousins and Aunt Jenny and Uncle Jeremiah goodbye at the train station and trying not think about the fact that in just a few hours, Mother and Dad would be going one way, and the children another.

Later that night, after a splendid meal in the train's dining car, while the children were asleep and Dad was puffing his pipe (a disgusting habit, Mother called it, but she thought that every person should be allowed _one_ vile trait in his or her life) out on the observation deck, Gwen sat with Mother for one final heart-to-heart.

"I'll take good care of the rest," she promised Mother.

Mother smiled. "I know you will, my Gwen. Just make sure to take care of yourself, too. Take time to run in the woods, and dream in Rainbow Valley, and explore the seashore. After all, Grandmother and Grandfather will be there, too, and you needn't take all the responsibility on yourself."

Gwen nodded. "I'll try," she said.

Mother shook her head ruefully. "When Una wrote, this seemed like such a marvellous idea … a chance for your father to take a break from his everyday duties, some fresh materiel for my column, almost a second honeymoon for us. I don't think either of us fully considered just how hard it was going to be to not see you rapscallions for a full year. You were born just a year after you father and I were married, you know. There's never really been a time in our lives when we haven't had you children with us!"

Gwen suddenly felt very grown-up and strong, patting her mother's hand and reassuring her. "Then it's high time you were without us, Mums. And I'm sure, with all the new and exciting things you'll be doing in India, you'll hardly notice that we're not there, and it'll be time to come back before you know it!"

Mother laughed a little and hugged her. "When did you get so wise, daughter o'mine? Oh Gwen, look at you, you're almost a woman! Wasn't it just yesterday that I was holding this newly-born bundle in my arms? And now … well, just look at you."

Gwen did, in fact, look at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall of their car. She saw a pale face, with skin that never darkened into the fashionable tan, no matter how much time she spent in the sun; enormous blue-grey eyes taking up about half her face, and soft fair hair that she had kept bobbing so long after the style went out of popularity that even now it barely reached her pointed chin. She couldn't see her body in the small, round mirror, but she knew what she would see if she could: long, gangly arms and legs that always got in her way and made her clumsy.

No matter what Mother said, she didn't think she looked like a woman. She certainly didn't feel like one … but then, she didn't really feel like a child anymore, either. With these new responsibilities, and the excitement of a new place, she wasn't sure what, or sometimes even who, she was anymore.

"Oh Mums," she suddenly sighed, despite her resolve not to. "I will miss you so this year."

And Mother hugged her again, hard this time, and a quiver was noticeable in her voice, too. "And I you, my dearest eldest daughter."


	2. Chapter 2

Ingleside looked just as it always did—as it always would, Gwen thought with satisfaction. The white clapboard walls glowed like rubies in the light from the setting sun. The snow was piled high in the walled garden (when she was little, Gwen had been convinced that fairies lived in that brick wall, and they made the flowers prettier at Ingleside than anywhere else) and over the wide lawn, but yellow lights shone from every window, making it all look cozy.

Uncle Shirley caught her eye as he hauled their bags out of his auto. "Good old Ingleside, eh?" he said with a smile.

"It never changes," Gwen agreed. "Phil, Jo, help with the bags."

The front door opened, and Grandmother, Grandfather, and a number of others spilled out onto the verandah.

"Is that you, at last?" Grandmother called gaily, waving at them with one hand while clutching a shawl to her chest with the other. Grandmother was _not_ old, she often explained to the young folk, but she _did_ occasionally get bothered by the cold.

"As dear Aunt Jimsie used to say, anyone can get rheumatism in their body, but only old people get it in their souls," she was wont to say.

Gwen promptly forgot about being helpful and launched herself across the snowy lawn to envelop Grandmother in a bone-cracking hug.

"Go on," Uncle Shirley told the others, and they dropped bags and trunks to follow their sister's lead.

"Oh Grandmother," Gwen blurted, holding back those treacherous tears only by the force of her stubborn will. "I'm _so_ glad to see you."

"As am I to you, dear heart," Grandmother said, gasping a little as she eased herself out of Gwen's fierce embrace. "Your grandfather and I were quite selfishly glad when we heard that your parents were going to India. We don't see enough of you Blakes … having you here for an entire year seems like heaven to us."

"We would have rather gone to India," Jo piped, much to Gwen's mortification. He followed that by offering a beaming smile at Grandmother and adding with disarming sweetness, "Since we couldn't, though, we're awful glad to be here, Grandmum."

"Well, come inside," Grandfather said, putting his arm around Lee's shoulders. "It's too cold to stand out here chatting. Your grandmother and Lynde have put on a fine spread for you weary travellers."

Lynde was an unfamiliar name, but Gwen was too busy secretly cuffing the side of Jo's head to ask.

Inside, there were aunts and uncles and cousins, people Gwen hadn't seen since last summer's family reunion, and with whom she was both eager to get acquainted and nervous. What if they thought she was dreadful? Jo hadn't made a very good impression of them to start with. What if they Mum and Dad had raised them all to be so rude?

Aunt Persis was as beautiful and kind as ever, shaking her hand in a business-like manner and asking Jo if he was too old to be kissed now.

"Yes," that terror replied, to which Gwen and Phil both glared at him.

"I'm not," Lee said, and so Aunt Persis bent and very sweetly kissed her.

Aunt Persis was the local veterinarian, and Uncle Shirley was a fisherman, and a commercial pilot during the off season, and they lived down at the old House of Dreams near the harbour. Uncle Shirley was quiet and Aunt Persis exuberant, and together they were Gwen's favourite aunt and uncle, even more than Aunt Jenny and Uncle Jeremiah.

Their two children, Leigh and Owen, were twelve and ten respectively. There was always much mirth in the family when Lee and Leigh were together, and the girl cousins were great friends. Leigh was quiet and calm, like her father, while Owen had inherited his mother's radiant good looks as well as her effervescent personality.

Uncle Jem was helping Uncle Shirley bring in the bags. "Not on call tonight, Jem?" Uncle Shirley asked, and Uncle Jem said that no, Bruce had agreed to fill in for him so he could welcome the travellers.

"He and Ruth and the twins will be here tomorrow, though," he added to Gwen, who smiled happily. Uncle Bruce and Aunt Ruth were considerably younger than the rest of the aunts and uncles, and their little Ruthie and Winnie were darling.

Then Aunt Faith was there, hugging her and asking how the trip was, and Jack was there behind her with another hug. Jack was the eldest out of all the cousins, just a year ahead of Gwen but already looking like a man, with his mother's goldy-brown hair and Uncle Jem's hazel eyes, set in a face that was, as Grandmother often said, the picture of his Uncle Walter.

Jack was like Uncle Walter in other ways, too. He loved poetry, and all things beautiful, and was a dreamer. Although he and Gwen were the eldest of the cousins, they were not the leaders of the clan—Jack was too dreamy, and Gwen too impulsive. Usually Phil took charge of cousin events, or even bossy Chloe Ford, for all that she was only ten.

"I'm glad you're here, Gwen," Jack said now, smiling at her. "It'll be nice having a cousin of my own age around, especially in school."

Gwen started to feel nervous, thinking about a new school, but just then a very pretty girl poked her head in through the doorway to the dining room.

"Supper is ready," she announced in a sweet but firm tone. "Best eat now, while it's still hot." The words were common enough, the the inflection indicated that if they demurred, there would be dire consequences to pay.

"Coming right in, Lynde," Grandfather said, leading the way to the other room.

Gwen nudged Owen, who happened to be beside her. "Who is that?"

"That's Lynde," he said, as though it were obvious.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Yes, but who is Lynde?"

Grandmother, coming along behind them, heard the question and answered for Owen, who was clearly thinking more about the meal awaiting him than the hands that had prepared it. "Lynde Wilson," she supplied, "Great-granddaughter, and named for, my dear old Mrs. Lynde, from back in Avonlea. Her parents moved back from the States when Lynde was just a baby, and purchased the old Lynde farm when the MacPhersons died. Mrs. Wilson said she had always heard stories about the old place, and wanted to raise her family there."

"Then why is Lynde here?" Phil asked. Gwen hadn't seen him join them, but she was suddenly comforted by her brother's solid presence. It had been a long day, and as much as she loved her family, she was starting to feel overwhelmed.

"She wanted to learn all about keeping house, and earn a little money for herself," Grandmother said. "Nan and Jerry would have hired her, but they don't really need the help, and Millie and Davy already had a hired girl, so Nan asked me if I would mind taking her. I never wanted anyone after dear Susan Baker died, you know, but Lynde … well, she's almost like part of the family. Of course I said yes, and I am glad I did. She's been wonderful."

"She rules the household with a rod of iron," Grandfather said.

Lynde, coming in from the kitchen just then bearing a platter of chicken, smiled gently. "You'd be lost without me, Dr. Blythe."

Lynde was tall and sturdy, with light brown hair gathered back out of the way in a plait down her back, and soft hazel eyes that glowed with zest for life. Gwen decided she would like Lynde, who looked just about her age, but she would probably like her more once she'd gotten some sleep and had her feet under her again.

And that was the last coherent thought she had, working her way mechanically through the meal, plodding upstairs after Grandmother, and collapsing into bed in the dainty room that had once belonged to her mother and Aunt Nan.

* * *

The next morning, Gwen couldn't remember where she was at first when she opened her eyes. She had never visited PEI in the winter before, only during the summer holiday. The morning sunlight sparkling off the pristine snow and in through the windows gave an entirely different look to the room than it had in the summer.

Then Gwen remembered, and she was quite happy just to lay quietly in the pretty brass bed that had been her mother's before her and just think about her family history.

In this room, Mother and Aunt Nan had whispered secrets as children. Here, they had prayed and wept together during the Great War. Here it was that they helped each other prepare for their double wedding, sixteen years ago—Aunt Nan to Jerry Meredith, the preacher's boy who had been her beau since they were children, and Mother to Jonathan Blake, a preacher himself and her college sweetheart, son of Grandmother's old and dear friend Philippa Blake.

Gwen loved looking at the photographs from that day. Aunt Nan had looked like a film star in her long white dress, with her starry eyes and proud tilt. Mother, though, Mother had looked like a _queen_: tall and splendid and regal. Gwen knew she'd never be half so elegant as Mother, not if she lived to be a hundred years old.

The twins' room hadn't changed much since they had left home. The walls were still papered with the pretty purple and green flowering vines. The shelves above the beds still held their girlhood treasures—dolls and a jewelry box and scrapbooks above Aunt Nan's; books and a black-and-white framed photograph of Uncle Walter as a boy above Mother's. The window seat still had a fat green cushion on it, welcoming anyone to sit and read, and the green rug underfoot was still worn thin from years of feet tramping across it.

Lee was next door, in Aunt Rilla's old room, and Phil and Jo were down the hall in the uncles' room. There, nestled in the heart of her family, with all the hopes and memories of a past generation beating against her, Gwen started to feel at rest, as she had not felt since Mother first told them about India.

Perhaps … just perhaps … they would all survive this year after all.

Gwen heard a timid tap on the door. "Come in, dear," she called softly thinking it was Lee. The door cracked open to reveal Lynde's startled face, her hair hanging in loose waves around her face.

Gwen sat bolt upright in bed. "Oh!" she stammered, feeling a blush covering her cheeks. "Oh, I didn't mean—I thought—I wasn't—I thought you were my sister," she finished lamely.

Lynde came the rest of the way in, closed the door behind her, and laughed a little. "I should have identified myself, but I didn't want to wake you if you were still sleeping."

"Oh no, I always wake up early," Gwen said. "I like to wake with the dawn. The morning feels so fresh, the day full of endless possibilities. Most of them," she admitted ruefully, "have fallen flat by the time the day had ended, but at least you always know tomorrow is a fresh start."

"That sounds like something your grandmother would say," Lynde smiled.

"It probably is. I likely learned it from her."

"Well, I won't keep you, but I just wanted to know if you would like me to bring you breakfast in bed, it being your first day and all." After this, Lynde's tone warned, Gwen would be expected to toe the line like the rest of them.

"Oh no," Gwen said, springing up out of bed and stubbing her toe on the floorboards. "Ouch! No, I'll come help you get breakfast ready myself. Where is my skirt? And my blouse? I don't suppose you've seen my shoes?"

Lynde shook her head. "I'll be here all day if I wait for you. Come down when you're ready, Gwen, and I'll have your breakfast waiting on the table."

Gwen's head was under Aunt Nan's bed, where her socks had apparently gone to rest last night, but she wiggled her legs in agreement.

By the time she pulled herself out (thankfully, she was not covered in dust, as she would have been had she dived under a bed at home—Lynde was apparently a more zealous housekeeper than Mother) and was getting dressed (her clothes were nowhere near where she had placed them last night—Gwen was sure they ran off while she was sleeping and found new places to wait, just to bedevil her), the door had opened again to reveal a sleepy Lee. In her yellow flannel pyjamas, her red curls in two plaits down her back, she looked half her age, especially when she rubbed her eyes with a fist.

"I heard you banging away in here," she said plaintively. Unlike Gwen, Lee was _not_ a morning person. "Why do you have to be so loud?"

Gwen finished running a brush through her short locks and kissed Lee. "Sorry, darling. Here, curl up in Auntie Nan's bed and go back to sleep. I'll come get you when it's time for breakfast."

Lee did so, and Gwen looked back and smiled as she went down the stairs.

She met Phil on the landing. He, like her, thought dawn was the best part of the day. Jo was a night owl, and the brothers often had difficulty sharing a room.

"Our first day," Phil said.

Yesterday, that would have sent shivers down her spine, but today Gwen was able to greet that thought with a smile. "Yes," she said. "And just think of all the lovely things that could happen today, and tomorrow, and all the days left to us here. Why, Phil! It's an entire _year_ of exciting things just waiting to happen!"

Phil sniffed the air appreciatively. "The first good thing to happen is breakfast. Jeepers, Lynde! This looks swell!"

"Oh Phil, you know Mums doesn't like you to use slang at the table," Gwen reminded him as she slid into the seat across from him. She smiled at Lynde, who placed a plate full of eggs and bacon and rolls in front of her. "Lynde, you're a marvel. Won't you join us?"

"Not my place, Gwen," Lynde said reprovingly. "I eat in the kitchen."

"So do we, at home," Phil grinned around a mouthful of eggs. "These really are sw—er, delicious, Lynde."

"Thank you," she said, beaming at him.

"You two are up early," Grandfather said, strolling into the dining room.

"You don't mind, do you, Grandfather?" Gwen asked.

"Not at all. I enjoy having someone to keep me company over my morning coffee. Thank you," he added, as Lynde whisked in with the coffee pot, as if on cue. "We used to keep regular morning hours around here, but once all the children grew up and moved out of the house, your grandmother decided to start sleeping in a bit in the mornings."

"Why doesn't Lynde share coffee with you?" Phil asked.

Lynde, bringing the doctor's loaded plate in to him, sniffed at the question.

"Lynde likes to keep us firmly in our place," Grandfather grinned. "We've all tried convincing her to be one of the family, but she won't relent. Hard-hearted woman," he added loudly. They all heard another sniff from behind the swinging door. Grandfather's eyes twinkled, and Phil nearly choked on his food trying to stifle a giggle.

Gwen, meanwhile, was eying Grandfather's coffee longingly. She had always wanted to try coffee, but Dad told her it was a terrible habit to start.

"Want a cup, Gwen?" Grandfather asked, noticing her interest.

Gwen bit her lip. Dad wouldn't mind, she told herself. After all, she was in charge of her siblings now. _Surely_ almost-fifteen was old enough to make up her own mind about coffee.

"Yes, please," she said before she could change her mind.

"Gwen!" Phil said, shocked. "You know Dad says—"

"And Mother says everyone is allowed one bad habit," Gwen interrupted. "I think coffee will be mine."

"I should think disorganization would be yours," Phil muttered. Gwen pretended not to hear him.

Lynde brought Gwen her own coffee cup, and Gwen, terribly excited to try to exotic, adult drink, raised it at once to her lips.

She nearly gagged on the bitter black brew. Phil was watching her intently, so she tried desperately to keep a straight face.

"Cream and sugar, Gwen?" Grandfather asked, laughter hidden under his voice.

Gwen stiffened her spine. She wanted to drink coffee, she would drink coffee. "No, thank you, Grandfather," she said primly. "It's delicious, just as it is."

And she grimly finished off the cup, promising herself that she would drink one every morning no matter how revolting it tasted, for the entire year—

Just because she could.

Because _that_ was part of being grown-up.


	3. Chapter 3

The nice thing about coming to Ingleside in January was that the Blake children had a week of time to re-acquaint themselves with Glen St. Mary before school started again and they had to adjust themselves to _that_.

The Glen, as its inhabitants airily referred to it, as though it needed no further name, hadn't changed _much_ since Gwen's mother had been a girl. It was still a school (now with a modern high school attached); a Presbyterian and a Methodist church (those upstart Baptists had a church of their own now, too, but it was on the outskirts of town, where most of the members of the other churches could pretend it didn't exist); a train station (the little shed the Blythes had built for the famous Dog Monday still stood, as a memorial of sorts to all the soldiers of the Great War); the Glen Pond (now frozen over and used for skating); and a handful of businesses along Main Street.

Carter Flagg's store was now named Flagg and Douglas, but it still carried everything a person could conceivably need, from flour to straight pins to tractor parts. Mr. Douglas had lost a leg in the War, but he seemed to have no difficulty in moving around and knowing where everything in the store was. His wife, Mrs. Douglas, was loud and a little frightening with her pale eyes that seemed to see _everything_, but Gwen rather liked the two Douglas children, Van and Lucy. Van was the same age as Jack, and the two palled around everywhere together. Lucy was thirteen and very much like her father, being quiet and calm, with her mother's light hair and Mr. Douglas's warm brown eyes.

Next door to Flagg and Douglas's was the drugstore with a soda fountain, also run by the Douglas family. Uncle Shirley took the Blakes, along with Leigh and Owen, there the very day after they arrived. Despite the cold weather, the six young people all ordered ice cream sodas and shivered their way through them with great gusto.

"How do you like our town so far?" Uncle Shirley asked.

"It's lovely," Lee said with starry eyes, looking up from her vanilla soda. "We've never been here in the winter, and everything is so _different_."

"We don't spend much time in the town even when we're here in the summer," Phil added. "We mostly spend our time in Rainbow Valley or down by the shore." He looked around reflectively. "Yes, I think it's a fine town."

"It's not _very_ much like Kingsport, though, is it?" Jo said dubiously.

"That makes it all the better," Gwen said promptly. "We'd miss home more if the Glen reminded us of Kingsport. With everything being different, it all feels fresh and fun."

Uncle Shirley laughed. "I think I could guess your personalities just from listening to a five-minute conversation between you all."

"Try it, then," Phil challenged him.

"Yes, tell us all about them, Father," Leigh said with a twinkle in her brown eyes.

Uncle Shirley took up the challenge. "Gwen is a determined optimist; Phil is a practical realist; Lee is sweet as that vanilla soda she just finished; and Jo is an _enfant terrible_."

Gwen and Phil looked at each other and laughed.

"That pretty well sums us up, I guess," Phil said comfortably.

"Especially Jo-Jo," Gwen added, ruffling that boy's silky fair hair while he scowled at her.

"Now tell them about us, Father," Owen challenged.

"Oh, that's too easy. Leigh is me, and you are your mother."

"But that doesn't tell us anything," Phil said. "We don't even know you and Aunt Persis very well."

"I think I can guess," Gwen said. "Leigh is quiet and steady, and Owen is a little wild, but loveable."

"Well done, Gwen!" Uncle Shirley said, while Leigh blushed a little and Owen grinned at Jo, who made a dreadful face back at him while neither Gwen nor Phil was watching.

"Now tell us about the rest of our cousins, please," Lee asked. "Even the ones who don't live here."

"But you know all of them."

"Not very well, you see, and if we're going to live here for a year we'll need to know all about them," Phil explained.

Uncle Shirley, who really was the quietest out of all the aunts and uncles, looked a little helplessly at his children. Leigh rescued him.

"Well, for here in the Glen there's just us and Jack year-round."

"And Winnie and Ruthie," Owen added.

"Yes, but they're only _honorary_ cousins," Leigh said.

"Still counts," Owen grumbled.

"Jack," Leigh continued, ignoring her brother, "is very nice. He likes to read and write poetry."

"But he's not a sissy," Owen interrupted.

"He's going to be an English Professor at some big university when he's older," Leigh said, "And a famous poet."

"And Winnie and Ruthie look just alike, but one is really fun and one is really shy, and I never can remember which is which," Owen butted in again.

"Ruthie Meredith is as sweet as our Lee," Uncle Shirley said, taking pity on his exasperated daughter. "And Winnie is as much of a chatterbox as Owen. Heaven only knows where she gets it, neither Bruce nor Ruth are much for talking."

Gwen remembered Aunt Ruth as a small, round woman who tended to get lost amongst all the other aunts but always had time for her nieces—both true nieces and honorary.

"Uncle Carl and Aunt Betty only live here in the summer, right?" Phil asked.

"That's right, with Tommy, Lizzie and Celia, who are all younger even than Jo and Owen," Leigh said with a nod.

"Last summer Uncle Carl let me look at his bugs," Phil said in satisfaction.

"Are you going to be a scientist like Carl, then?" Uncle Shirley asked.

"I'm only thirteen," Phil reminded him. "I don't know yet what I want to do. I do like science, though."

"It's his best subject at school," Lee piped proudly.

"Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken live in your Grandmother Ford's old house, down near the House of Dreams, during the summer," Gwen said. She well remembered the jolly feasts and fun they all had at the old Moore house every summer, followed by bonfires on the shore.

"Thank goodness!" Owen said.

Gwen raised her eyebrows.

"That they only live there in the summer," he explained.

"Owen!" Uncle Shirley rebuked him.

"Sorry, Father," he said, unabashed. "It's just that the twins always are playing nasty tricks on me, and Chloe tries to boss the life out of everybody."

Uncle Shirley still looked stern. Leigh came to her brother's defence.

"It's true, Father. We _like_ them, of course, but they would get to be too much if they were here all the time. And Isaac and Isaiah have done some really mean things to Owen."

"Like the time they filled my bed with spiders and bugs," Owen grumbled. "Or the time they made me believe I was adopted. Or …"

"I get the picture, son," Uncle Shirley said. "I grant that you have reason to say what you did. Sometimes, though, it's best to not say anything at all about a person if you can't say something nice."

"But they asked about the cousins," Owen said. "How can we tell about them if we only say the nice parts? That's like _lying_."

"Ask your mother when we get home," Uncle Shirley said weakly.

"Anyway," Leigh continued, "That just leaves Rosie and Gil in Avonlea. Gil is thirteen, like Phil—"

Owen giggled suddenly. "Gil and Phil!"

Phil rolled his eyes. "As if we don't hear _that_ every single summer," he muttered.

"—And Rosie is Jo's age, eleven," Leigh finished.

"We know Gil and Rosie pretty well," Gwen said. "Aunt Nan and Uncle Jerry come and visit us every other year on Mother and Aunt Nan's birthday, and we visit them on the off year. Rosie's such a darling, and Gil always has us in stitches."

"He's funnier than all three of the Marx brothers," Jo said gleefully. "And I'm going to marry Rosie when we grow up."

"But she's your cousin," Owen said.

"So? She's the prettiest girl I know, next to Mums. And Mother's already married."

Owen considered this. "I guess that makes sense," he conceded. "I am going to marry Lucy Douglas," he added.

Leigh rolled her eyes, and Uncle Shirley shook his head. Gwen guessed this was a familiar topic for them.

"Well, tell me about the school," Gwen said, leaving the subject of family. The family, after all, was something they were familiar with at least a little, while school was completely new and strange.

"Mr. Grant is the principal of the high school," Leigh said. "And Mrs. Grant teaches English. Their son Bobby is in my class, and Oliver is your age, Gwen. They have a little girl, too, but she's only nine."

"Wasn't Mrs. Grant Aunt Rilla's friend, back during the War?" Phil asked.

"Yes, she lived at Ingleside before she married Mr. Grant."

"She was—and is—a fine woman, and a good friend," Uncle Shirley mentioned.

"Most of the teachers at school are nice," Leigh continued. "Some are strict, but Mr Grant doesn't let any of them bully us students. I mean, we students." She looked to her father for confirmation that she'd used the correct word. At his approving nod, she looked relieved.

"The students aren't bad, either," Owen said. "Some of them might tease you about being city kids, but just ignore 'em. That's what _I_ would do."

"Oh, they'll be nice," Leigh said. "Nobody would be mean to Jack's cousins. He's _everyone's_ hero, in school."

Since Jack was by way of being a bit of a hero to Gwen, too, this came as no surprise to her. She only hoped she could live up to his reputation and not embarrass him too badly. She did have a tendency to embarrass her family … not as much as Jo, of course, but still. She was the one who would trip and fall flat on her nose when walking down a perfectly smooth street, or "get" the joke thirty seconds after everyone else and start laughing just when the rest stopped.

It was very trying, especially to Phil, who was always so careful and precise, and simply could not understand how Gwen could be the way she was.

Truth to tell, Gwen couldn't always understand that, either.

"Why is Jack everyone's hero?" Phil asked now, in his blunt way.

"He's a Blythe _and_ a Meredith," Owen said, as if it should be obvious. When Phil still looked blank, he added, "They're the best families in town! Everybody wants to be friends with Jack, because the Blythes and Merediths are only friends with the best people, so if you're friends with Jack it means you're one of the best." This was all said very quickly, and both Shirley and Leigh were shaking their heads by the time he finished.

"That's not it at all, Owen," Leigh said impatiently. "That's the sort of thing Chloe thinks, that just because of our last name we're better than everybody else."

Owen blinked. "I didn't say it was true! I just said that's what everyone thinks."

"I certainly hope _you_ kids don't think you're better than the other Glen young fry, just because of who your grandparents are," Uncle Shirley said grimly. "If there's one thing I hate, it's a snob."

"A man's got to earn his own reputation, not live by his father's," Phil said unexpectedly. It was one of Dad's sayings, which he used whenever people wondered why he was preaching at a small church in the poor part of Kingsport, instead of taking over for his father in the posh section of the city.

Grandfather Blake had started out in the slums, too, and _he_ ended up building such a reputation for himself that people came all the way from the States just to hear him preach!

"Yes, exactly, Phil," Uncle Shirley said, looking at him with respect.

"Anyway, people like Jack because of who _he_ is," Leigh said. "He's nice to everyone, doesn't matter whether you're one of the 'best' families or if you're a fisherman's kid. Jack's just … well, he's just swell."

"Did I hear my name?" asked that young man unexpectedly, entering the drugstore just then. He took off his knitted cap, letting his curly hair spring up, and pulled his gloves off his hands one finger at a time. He walked over to the counter and sat on the stool next to Jo. "I thought I saw some familiar backs in here as I walked by, so I figured I'd stop in and see if it really was you folks."

"What are you up to today, Jack my lad?" Uncle Shirley asked, motioning the soda jerk over. "And what'll you have?"

"Oh, I can pay for my own, Uncle Shirley," Jack protested, digging into his pocket for change. "I'm out running errands for Mother. She won't mind if I'm a little bit late."

Uncle Shirley refused to let him pay. "My treat, in honour of the Blakes being here," he insisted.

Jack scowled cheerfully at him. "You win—this time. Chocolate and cherry, please," he ordered.

"I got chocolate, too," Jo told him. "But not cherry. I don't like cherry."

"You should try it," Jack said, winking at him. "It's a grand combination."

Jo shook his head. "It sounds nasty. I'd rather drink swamp water. I've actually had swamp water before, so I know all about it."

"Jo-_siah_!" Gwen cried. "When?"

Jo looked guilty. "Oh, uh—I didn't really, Gwennie. I was just kidding." He tried a weak smile. "Heh, heh."

"Are you looking forward to school starting up next week, Gwen?" Jack asked.

Gwen shrugged. "I think I'd like it better if we were in the same class. I won't know _anybody_ in my class."

"Lynde is in your class," Jack said. "She tried to convince Grandmother that she didn't need to continue in school past the primary grades, but Grandmother insisted. Said the only way she'd hire Lynde was if Lynde agreed to finish high school. She's awfully smart, but she thinks school is a waste of time."

"So do I," Jo said.

"Oh, I'm glad Lynde will be there," Gwen said, glowing with satisfaction. "Even though we just met yesterday, she already feels like a friend."

"Everybody feels like a friend to you, Gwen," Phil said tolerantly. "Gwen likes everybody, even before she's met them," he explained to the rest.

"What's wrong with that?" Gwen asked indignantly.

"Not a thing," Uncle Shirley was quick to reassure her. "Not one thing."

"You know what they say," Jack said. "Strangers are just friends we haven't met yet."

"Who says, Jack? Mother says not to talk to strangers," Jo piped up.

"'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unaware,'" Uncle Shirley quoted. "Your mother just wants to keep you safe, Jo," he said. "But there's nothing wrong with our Gwen being friendly to all." He smiled at the tall, gangly girl. "In fact, it's the very best way to be."


	4. Chapter 4

Gwen couldn't decide what to wear for her first day at the Glen St. Mary High School. She didn't want to get too dressed up; that would look like she was trying too hard. But if she didn't take any pains with her appearance, it would look like she just didn't care. Lynde finally took pity on her and helped her choose, as Lee had grown bored with the whole process and fallen asleep in Aunt Nan's bed.

"Here," Lynde said five minutes after entering the room, laying out her final choice on Gwen's bed: a simple grey wool skirt and navy blue blouse. "It's neat, tidy, easy to keep clean, and it's a good colour for you."

Gwen chewed her lower lip. "It's not too … boring?"

Lynde rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't want to look like the Drew girls, would you?"

"I don't know," Gwen countered. "I don't know the Drew girls."

"Gladys and Mildred Drew," Lynde said. "They come to school every day wearing clothes they saw in the cinema, or the fashion catalogues. They haven't got the sense the Good Lord gave rabbits … and they look something like rabbits, too, even in their fancy shoes and slinky frocks. Trust me, Gwen, you'll do much better dressed like everyone else."

"All right, then," Gwen surrendered with a sigh. She had already learned that it was just as well to do what Lynde suggested. Somehow, she made it very difficult to disagree with her.

"Now," Lynde said, "You hang up the rest of these clothes, and I'll press these so they will be ready for tomorrow morning. And _mind_ you hang the rest of those neatly, or they'll be such a mass of wrinkles even I won't be able to get them flat!"

Gwen sighed as Lynde exited the room. She had emptied her entire wardrobe onto her bed, chair, desk, and even the floor. She didn't even have _that_ many clothes … just a few skirts and blouses for school, a couple pairs of trousers for working around the house, and two Sunday dresses. How they had managed to cover the entire room (her trousers, she saw, had somehow gotten draped across Lee's snoring form) was beyond her.

She started to pick them up. If she didn't, Lynde would find out, and _then_ she would be in hot water!

Everything was finally hung back in its place, and Gwen tossed her short robe carelessly toward her desk chair (it missed, and fell to the floor, but she didn't notice), and then climbed between the covers of her nice warm bed with a contented sigh. She knew she ought to wake Lee up and send her back to her own room … but she was so tired, and Lee was already asleep, and her bed was so very comfortable …

Before she knew it, Gwen was asleep.

* * *

Although Jack lived closer to the school than Grandmother and Grandfather Blythe did, he came out to Ingleside the next morning, "to walk with you all for your first day," he announced.

"Besides," grinning at Lynde as she added another place setting to the table with the air of a martyr, "Lynde's cooking is better than Mum's."

She didn't say anything, but her expression softened, and Gwen noticed that she exchanged the knife with the cracked handle which she had originally placed in front of Jack, for an unbroken one. Apparently even Lynde was not completely immune to Jack's charm.

Owen and Leigh were there as well, though their coming had been planned earlier. The House of Dreams was a long walk from the school, especially in winter, so Aunt Persis often ran the youngsters up to Ingleside first thing, where they would eat breakfast and then walk into town from there.

"Mother keeps saying we need to get a place closer to town," Owen informed Gwen that morning, sliding in to the chair next to her. Owen had taken quite a shine to his older cousin. "She says it's too hard for people to bring their animals all the way out to her, but Father always counters with saying that as long as he keeps fishing for a living, he needs to stay near the harbour."

"So what's the solution?" Grandfather asked with twinkling eyes. Grandfather loved keeping informed through his grandchildren on all the daily events. He said they were better than the newspaper.

"Father thinks Mother ought to open a clinic in town," Owen offered. "Mother doesn't like the idea of being away from home, but Father says that with all the house calls she makes, she's hardly ever there anyway, and at least maybe this will keep people from coming in at all hours, interrupting her in the middle of meals and sleeping and other home things, if she keeps her business and her home separate."

"But nothing is definite yet," Leigh interjected. "Remember Owen, Mother told you not to say anything about it? She doesn't want people taking it as settled, when they're still just talking it over."

Owen looked exasperated. "It's _Grandfather_, Leigh. Of course we can tell him."

"And Lynde, and Jack, and Grandmother, and Gwen and Phil and Lee and Jo?"

For the first time, Owen seemed to remember that others were listening as well. "Oh. Oops."

"Don't worry, Owen," Jack assured him. "We won't breathe a word."

"I might," Jo said. "I won't on purpose, but sometimes I forget things are supposed to be a secret."

"Well, _remember_," Phil said severely. "You don't want to disappoint Aunt Persis, do you?"

Despite the fact that she spent most of her days knee-deep in manure, tending farm animals, or else with her hands down dogs' and cats' throats, Aunt Persis was decidedly still the most glamourous out of all the aunts. She held a considerable fascination for all her nieces and nephews.

Jo considered this. "I'll try, really hard," he promised. "Besides, I don't know anyone here yet, so there aren't that many people I _could_ tell."

"Breakfast is done," Lynde announced. "Everyone needs to get ready for school."

There was a mad scramble for books, boots, and hats, and within ten minutes Ingleside was emptied except for Grandmother and Grandfather, who sighed in unison.

Life was so _boring_ when the grandchildren were at school. Even Lynde left them during the day, and while they never tired of each other's company … well, when one had such delightful grandchildren as they did, one wanted to spend as much time as possible with them.

* * *

Jack had promised Gwen on the walk to school that he would introduce her to a couple of kids he knew before heading off to his class. Accordingly, after seeing the younger ones settled in their classes, Jack led the way to the High School. The very first girl they met in the halls he hailed.

"Fanny! Just the girl I was looking for."

She blushed. "Really?"

Jack seemed oblivious to the effect his words had on her. "I want you to meet my cousin, Gwen Blake. Gwen, this is Fanny—Frances—Elliot. Gwen and her siblings are here for a year while their parents are overseas, Fanny, and I told her I'd introduce her to some people so she wouldn't feel like a stranger."

Gwen saw Fanny's face fall, and felt guilty, though it wasn't _her_ fault Jack had gotten the other girl's hopes up. "Hi," she said shyly, offering a tentative smile.

Fanny smiled back reluctantly. "Welcome to the Glen High School, Gwen. Good morning, Lynde," she added to the girl standing just a few paces behind Jack and Gwen.

"Morning," Lynde said distractedly. She moved past them to hurry to the Assembly Room. She had, as she explained to Gwen on the way, a horror of being late, and made it a point to always be five to ten minutes early to every class, so she could secure a seat in the back where the teachers wouldn't ever call on her.

"Fanny is the top student in your year," Jack told Gwen, and suddenly Fanny was beaming again.

"There's the second bell for Assembly!" Fanny exclaimed suddenly, looking up as a shrill buzz filled the air. "We'd better hurry if we don't want to be late."

Jack squeezed Gwen's shoulder, nodded to Fanny, and ran off to join his mates, leaving the two girls hurrying behind.

"Your mother is one of the Ingleside twins, isn't she?" Fanny asked Gwen, leading the way to the Assembly Room.

Gwen nodded. "She was Diana Blythe before marrying Dad; now she's Di Blake."

"And she writes that column, the one about how to look for beauty and goodness in all the everyday things of life, right?"

Gwen nodded again. "She didn't even know she _could_ write until after the War, and then something my Uncle Walter wrote to her before he was killed made her think about how much the world needs beauty-seekers, and then she started noticing more and more, and she started writing it down so she wouldn't forget, and then Dad told her to submit it to Uncle Kenneth's newspaper, and then it just grew from there." She blushed. Goodness, Owen's style of running ideas together in one sentence was rubbing off on her.

"I don't read the papers much, but I always read your mother's column," Fanny confessed as they found seats next to each other near the front of the room—but not _too_ near. Gwen would have liked to sit with Lynde, but when she sat in the back she couldn't read the words on the board properly. She suspected that she needed spectacles, but she had vowed never to mention such a thing to Mother or Dad—she was plain enough as it was, she didn't need _spectacles_ to make her even uglier.

"That's Mr. Grant the principal," Fanny whispered, motioning to the tall, well-built man sitting on the platform. "He opens classes every day with a prayer and a hymn. That's his wife, Mrs. Grant," pointing to the dark-haired woman sitting at the piano. "She teaches English. Their son Oliver is sitting over there," she pointed to a tall boy with his mother's dark colouring sitting near the window, gazing out across the snow-covered fields toward the distant sea, "and he's one of the smartest boys in school."

Mr. Grant looked up from his papers as a bell shrilled throughout the school. "Good morning, students," he said in a pleasant, deep voice. "Please rise for the Lord's Prayer."

* * *

"Well, Gwen, and what do you think of the Glen school?" Grandmother asked that afternoon. Lee and Jo had gone down to the House of Dreams with Leigh and Owen, and Phil was up in his bedroom working on homework—already! Only Gwen and Grandmother were in the parlour, enjoying the fire and some tea and toast Lynde had brought them.

"I think I'll like it," Gwen said slowly. "It's all so new right now!" She had come back to Ingleside feeling just slightly overwhelmed. Sitting here cosily with Grandmother, with Lynde's hot, strong tea warming her inside and the fire warming her outside, Gog and Magog winking companionably at her from the mantel, the panicked feeling was starting to recede.

"Mrs. Grant teaches English composition, and she's fearfully clever," she said. "I am certain I will never be able to live up to her expectations! I think her class is going to be fascinating, though."

"Gertrude has always been able to make English come alive for her students," Grandmother said. "She does have high expectations, but she always works with her students to help them reach their fullest potential, so long as they are willing to work hard themselves."

"I don't mind working hard, I just wish I were cleverer to begin with," Gwen said ruefully. "No matter how hard I work, I'll never be as smart as Phil."

Grandmother patted her hand. "Comparisons, my dear, are odious. Phil is Phil, and you are you, and we all love you both just for who you are. Go on about school. What other classes are you taking?"

"Latin," Gwen said with a glowing face. "I _love_ languages, Grandmother. I started Latin at my school, back in Kingsport, and I think I'm going to like this class even better. Our teacher is Miss Crawford, and oh, her voice just sounds like music when she reads to us! Fanny hates Latin, she says she would rather learn a language that people still speak, but Dad always told Phil and me that Latin is a good base for almost any other language we wanted to speak. And isn't it amazing to think about the fact that people used to speak it, every day, just as we do English, and used it to talk about the simplest things, like laundry and babies and dresses? It's not just epics and history, it was once a living, breathing language that real people used."

"Baby—_bébé_—_kind_—_infantia_—in any language, the idea behind the word is precious," Grandmother said dreamily.

"I'm also taking algebra," Gwen said, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue comically. "I think I'm a perfect dunce at mathematics, Grandmother."

"Geometry was always my bane," Grandmother sighed. "Even now, I can never see one of Jack's geometry books without a chill going down my spine."

"Then there's ancient history, which is fun, and goes well with Latin, and of course physical education. Fanny plays ice hockey now, and field hockey during the spring. I agreed to try to do it with her, but oh Grandmother, I am so very, very clumsy. I'm so afraid I'm going to break my own or somebody else's leg with my stick!"

Grandmother laughed. "Isn't there something else you'd rather try instead?"

Gwen looked mournful. "I'm not very good at anything sports-related, I'm afraid. Lynde said I should just take the gymnastics class, like she does, but I can't climb the ropes to save my life, and I can't balance at all. Some of the girls take dance lessons—but even though I love music I can't translate rhythm from my head to my feet—and I love playing basketball and baseball and soccer and such with Jeremy and Phil and my friends back home, but whenever I think about playing it for an actual _competition_, where people are _counting_ on me, I freeze up. Besides, Glen High doesn't offer soccer or baseball for girls, only for boys."

"Well, perhaps this will be good for you," Grandmother said optimistically. "Maybe being forced to play some sort of sport will help you develop a skill for it."

"Maybe," Gwen said, but privately she doubted it.

"Still," she said with hope in her voice, "I think I will like school overall. And I love Fanny already—she doesn't mind being friends with me, even though I'm new _and_ a bit of a dunce—and Phil is happy with his classes, and Lee and Jo are making friends already, so I think everything will be just fine."

She missed having Jeremy around—she and her cousin took all their classes together back home, and he helped her through all the difficult spots—but it was a new experience having a girl friend, and she thought she was going to like it. And Jack, even though he was a sophomore and only saw her briefly throughout the day, was _almost_ as good of a cousin and friend as Jeremy.

And as long as her siblings were happy and content, Gwen could endure anything. Even algebra and hockey!


	5. Chapter 5

"Blake!" Coach Elliot yelled in frustration. "The ball is supposed to go _this way_!"

Gwen hung her head in shame. As if it wasn't bad enough getting kicked off the hockey team ("I'm sorry, Blake, but for the safety of the team I have to recommend that you never, ever be allowed near a hockey stick or ice skate again," that coach had told her), it looked as though she was going to be asked to leave the basketball team, too.

It was so difficult! She loved running up and down the court, and she was actually fairly good at dribbling, but when it came time to throw—! Back home, Jeremy or Phil was always right there for her to pass the ball to, and then they would throw it. Here, she had no such grace; she was expected to pull her own weight.

She was running out of options for physical education. She would _not_ embarrass herself by trying dance. She could do gymnastics for a little while with Lynde, maybe, and then she didn't know _what_ she would do when she failed at that.

"Practice," Coach Elliot kept telling her, and she tried, but somehow, even though she knew exactly where she wanted to ball to go when she threw it, it always landed someplace completely different. Gwen couldn't understand what was wrong with her arms, but she suspected that they were built differently from most people's arms, and that was why she couldn't throw properly.

"Sit out the rest of the practice, Blake," Coach Elliot told her now. "Watch the other girls, and see if you can't figure out how to throw like they do."

Gwen collapsed gratefully onto the bench. Margie MacAllister was the star of the basketball team, and she smirked meanly at Gwen as she ran past with the ball.

"That's right, Blake, watch how I do it!" she hissed.

Gwen couldn't understand why Margie disliked her so, but she tried to ignore the other girl. "Some people," Dad always said, "Just won't be friends, no matter what you do. Those are the people to just let alone, because they'll never change."

Annie Drew was a little kinder; the look she tossed over her shoulder was brimming with pity. That almost stung worse than Margie's open sneering; Gwen was honest with herself about her shortcomings, but she didn't like to be pitied by others for them.

Gwen scuffed the toe of her shoe along the floor. She wished there was some magic pill she could take that would suddenly make her a star at … something. She didn't even care what it was at this point!

"Gwen Blake?" A tall, slim woman with hair almost as short as Gwen's own and a merry voice approached the bench.

Gwen nodded, wondering who this was. She looked too old to be a student, but too young to be a teacher—unless she was fresh out of teacher's college.

"I was watching you on the court. You have quite a talent, young lady."

Was this sarcasm? "Um, I think you might have me confused with Margie," Gwen said. True, Margie was broad and muscled and had dark hair and eyes, but she and Gwen were about the same height.

The woman laughed. "Oh, not for basketball! No, I was watching you run. Tell me, have you ever clocked yourself running?"

"No," Gwen said simply.

"Hm. Tell me, what other sports do you play?"

"Soccer, and sometimes baseball, though I throw the baseball as badly as I do a basketball."

"And how are you at those?"

Gwen brightened. "I'm very good at soccer—I mean, that's what my cousin tells me," not wanting to sound like she was bragging. "And I'm almost always able to hit the ball and make it on base in baseball, even though I'm terrible in the infield or outfield."

To her surprise, the woman positively beamed. "I knew it!" she said triumphantly. At Gwen's look of confusion, she laughed again. "I'm Helen Flagg—Coach Flagg, I hope. I just received approval to start a girl's track and field team here at Glen High, provided I can find enough girls. As soon as I saw you running down the court, I knew I _had_ to recruit you for the team. Are you interested?"

Gwen thought about it. Running—jumping—no balls to throw or sticks to manage—no team relying on her—

Suddenly she was beaming as well. "Are you joking? Of _course_ I'm interested!"

Miss Flagg—Coach—clapped her hands together. "Wonderful! That's one."

"One? You mean, I'm the first?"

"Don't worry," Coach reassured her. "We'll have a full team soon enough. In the meantime, let's see about getting Coach Elliot's permission for you to drop basketball and take up track and field instead."

"Permission? I should think she'll probably rejoice to get rid of me!"

Coach Flagg winked. "Her loss."

* * *

Grandmother was pleased for Gwen's sake when she heard about the track and field, but Grandfather was positively ecstatic. He sat right down with her and helped her figure out a training schedule to keep to even outside of school hours, and promised to write out a meal plan for her that would help her stay fit.

"Lynde won't want to cook separate meals for me than everyone else," Gwen protested, wondering with a pang if she was going to have to give up cinnamon rolls and cookies and cake and all Lynde's other goodies.

"Nonsense," Lynde said. "You just do whatever your grandfather says, Gwen, and I'll do the same." As much as Lynde "bossed" the household of Ingleside, she adored Dr. Blythe and would have cheerfully cut off her right arm if he had mentioned it might be a good idea.

"I'm going to join the boys' team next year, when I'm in High School, too," Phil said. Like Gwen, Phil wasn't very good at most organized sports, although in his case it was mostly disinterest. He was happy enough to play for fun with his friends, but he didn't have any spark of competitive spirit in him, and was rather disastrously given to "helping" the other team without even realizing it. The day he absentmindedly passed the ball to his opponent instead of his teammate was the day his Kingsport coach told him he was off the basketball team.

Gwen grinned. Somehow, having her brother involved made everything more fun. She knew there were some sisters out there who didn't like their brothers very much, but even though she and Phil had their fights, they were the best of friends underneath it all.

"_Farewell to Nova Scotia, you sea-bound coast; let your mountains dark and dreary be. For when I'm far away, on the briny ocean tossed; will you ever heave a sigh and a wish for me_?" Lee's sweet young voice rang through the house. She and Jo were seated at the piano, he playing and she singing. All four Blakes could both sing and play, but Lee and Jo were the best. Jo, in fact, was so talented that Mother and Dad were discussing ways to pay for him to take lessons from a real professional, instead of just Mother.

They didn't think they could afford it, but Phil and Gwen had talked it over between themselves and agreed to go without Christmas and birthday presents for however long it was necessary, if that was what it took. Talent like Jo's, they agreed, should not be wasted.

Grandmother sighed happily. "It seems so good to hear young voices in these old rooms again. Athletes, musicians, scholars … I don't care what you all end up doing, I'm just so happy you're here."

Gwen ran across the room and threw her arms around Grandmother, pressing her cheek to Grandmother's silver hair. "And we're glad to be here."

Phil was not usually demonstrative with his affection, but he joined his sister on Grandmother's other side. "We truly are, Grandmother, we're not just saying that. It's only been a month, but already Ingleside is starting to feel like home."

The only thing, Gwen thought but did not say, that would make it better, would have been if Mother and Dad could have been there too—and Jeremy and the rest of the Blakes.

But that, she reasoned, would probably have made it _too_ close to heaven for this earth!

* * *

"Feb. 16, 1936

"Dear Mother,

"I'm supposed to be conjugating Latin verbs, but I wanted to write to you before doing anything else—even reading the new book Aunt Jenny sent me. It's titled: _The A.B.C. Murders_, and it's Agatha Christie's brand-new book. It was just barely published this week in the States, but Aunt Jenny ordered it for me from England. Wasn't that kind of her? It looks simply chilling; I won't read it at night, I promise!

"Oh Mums, I do miss you and Dad. Coach Flagg has five girls now for track and field, and she said that's enough for us to qualify as a real team. We had our first practice today, and I wished you could have been there. I am the fastest girl on the team! It wasn't just a fluke, either. I _know_ I can run faster than I did today, but I twisted my ankle a little walking to school this morning (I wasn't _just_ being clumsy, Mother, the roads are very icy here), and it was still a bit sore this afternoon, so I couldn't run as fast as I usually do. But if I was the fastest girl while running more slowly than usual, just imagine how fast I'll be when I'm doing my best!

"This all sounds very boastful, I know, but this is the first time in my life that I've actually been good at something, I mean really good, and without Jeremy or Phil there to make me look better than I am, and oh Mother, it's amazing how it makes me feel.

"Unfortunately, being a fast runner hasn't cured me of clumsiness in every other area. I nearly broke Gog—or maybe it was Magog—yesterday, and I saw Grandmother bite her lip _very hard_ to keep from saying something. Sometimes I think I ought to be locked away from anything valuable!

"Phil is doing well in school. I know he won't tell you that, because he is far more modest than I am; as soon as I do well in anything I have to tell you! He's by far the smartest student in his class, and probably if he wanted he could skip ahead a grade, but I know he won't do that because then we'd be in the same class and he's afraid I would be embarrassed to have my little brother in my class. (I wouldn't, Mums, you know that, but Phil is so sensitive!) He hasn't said so, of course, but I figured it out from what I've heard others saying.

"Jo already had quite the following—he always has about five or six little boys over after school and on the weekends. They play the most elaborate games, all thought up by our Jo-Jo, of course, and when he's had enough he quite coolly tells them he's tired of them and they need to go home. _And they go_, and come back the next day, his willing slaves. I don't understand how he does it!

"Lee is best friends with Uncle Shirley's Leigh; I don't know what they'll do when we finally go home next year. Either Lee is at the House of Dreams, or Leigh is here. They're never separate! Lee's the only one who has said anything to me about being homesick, but that was only one night when she had a stomachache and couldn't sleep.

"(Jo just came in and gravely informed me that Bluebell and Teddy send you and Dad their love. I told him I would pass that along to you, so here it is.)

"Other than that one night, everyone has adjusted very well. Grandmother and Grandfather are dear and sweet and kind and do everything they can to make us feel like we belong. Jack is in and out all the time; he is so nice, Mother! I like him _almost_ as much as Jeremy. Uncle Jem and Aunt Faith have had us over for supper once, and we have an open invitation to drop in at the House of Dreams any time we want.

"I love Kingsport, Mums, but I must say that it _is_ nice to live in a place with lots of relatives, more than just Uncle Jeremiah and Aunt Jenny. Aunt Nan has said that they will come visit us as soon as the roads are fit for driving, which of course probably won't happen until April. Jo is delighted at the thought of seeing Rosie again!

"I'm so happy to finally have girl friends, too, Mums. Fanny and I take all our classes together, and even though she is ten times smarter than I am, she doesn't mind helping me with our homework. The only time we're separated in school is during PE, when I'm now running track, and she's playing hockey. She's a whiz on skates!

"(Jo wandered back in and asked when you are going to send more pictures of India, and if you could try to include some of some temples in the next batch. Apparently he and his friends have a continuing game going on that revolves around their imagined idea of India, and he needs to know what temples look like for reference.)

"Where was I? Oh yes, friends. Lynde is a friend, too, even though she bosses me to death here at the house! Was Susan Baker like that in your time? Of course Susan was older than you, and Lynde is my own age, which makes it a little bit odder.

"I'm making friends with the other girls on the track and field team, too. Jean Drew, Katie Davies, Betty Douglas, and Mary Crawford. None of them are as nice as Fanny or Lynde, but I think we'll make a good team. I'm the fastest runner, and Jean's the best at the long jump, and Mary, who helps her father with the fishing and is terrifically strong, is the best at throwing. Katie and Betty are very good all-around, and Betty is always making us laugh!

"The only other student I've gotten to know at all is Oliver Grant. He seems very nice, but we've only talked once or twice. I'm always getting nervous whenever I'm near him, which I suppose is because his father is the principal and his mother teaches my English class, and so I'm sure Oliver must be dreadfully clever. I never know how to talk to clever people—I'm always saying something stupid as soon as I want to sound impressive!

"Oliver's friendly toward everyone, though, so maybe he doesn't mind talking to stupid people. I would like to be his friend—if only I could get over blushing every time he looks at me!

"I know what you're going to say, Mums, but truly, I don't think I have a 'crush' on Oliver. I don't know, maybe I do, but I've never had one on any boy before so I don't know exactly how they're supposed to feel. Shouldn't I be more silly, though? I don't spend all my time thinking about him, and I don't plot out ways to meet him at school—usually I just try to avoid him, so that I don't make a fool of myself! I'm sure if you were here you could explain it all to me, but since you aren't, I'll just keep muddling through.

"I love you, heaps and crowds. Give my love to Dad, too, and you can read him all of this letter except for the bit about Oliver—I don't want him worrying. I _haven't_ lost my head or my heart, really!

"I'm off to conjugate Latin now, and maybe then a chapter or two in my new book if I have time!

"Always yours,

"Gwen."


	6. Chapter 6

In early March, Gwen and Grandmother celebrated their birthdays. Grandmother disliked the fact that her birthday came during such an ugly month, but Gwen liked the fact that she had an excuse to celebrate and brighten up the boring days. In spring and summer, when so much else was happening, one's birthday could just slip by. In a month like March or November or February, though, it became an Event.

Grandmother asked Gwen how she would like to celebrate.

"Would you like a party with some of your new school chums over, or a family celebration, or a combination of the two, or something else entirely?"

Gwen thought about it. She wouldn't mind a party … she could invite Fanny and the girls from her track and field team. But then, the last time she'd had a birthday party like that was when she was a little girl, and she was afraid she wouldn't know how to act at a grown-up party.

A family celebration might be nice, but the truth was that Gwen was starting to feel the pressure of being the "parent" to her younger siblings. Lee had taken to sleeping almost every night in Aunt Nan's bed, for fear of waking up with nightmares in a room all alone, and Jo came to Gwen what seemed like every five _minutes_, with either a question or a need or just wanting "to chat." As much as she loved her little brother and sister, sometimes Gwen wondered how on earth Mother managed to get through each day without wanting to run and hide. She supposed it had something to do with being a mother instead of just an older sister.

"I think, Grandmother," she said slowly, "I'd like to do something special, just you and me."

Grandmother smiled. "That sounds lovely. What did you have in mind?"

So it was, on the Saturday that fell between their two birthdays, that Gwen and Grandmother were at the Glen train station bright and early in the morning. Lynde had fed them a special birthday breakfast of eggs and pancakes and bacon (Grandfather agreed to let Gwen break her training diet for one day), the children were left with Uncle Shirley and Aunt Persis, Phil and Grandfather were going to spend the day snowshoeing, and both women were wearing their finest frocks.

Gwen thought Grandmother looked positively regal in her pale green dress, with her long black coat over it and a _chic_ black hat with the tiniest of veils atop her silvery head. "I do love pretty clothes," Grandmother confessed. "Even though I am an old woman and supposed to be beyond such interests. Whenever Persis or Faith gets a catalog with the latest styles, she brings it right over to Ingleside and we pore over the fashions together!"

"I like pretty clothes too, but I always feel awkward in anything that I haven't already worn for a few years," Gwen said. "And I never know if something is _really_ fashionable, or if it's just something that _I_ like!"

Today she was wearing the dress that Aunt Jenny had sent for her birthday. Aunt Jenny had exquisite taste, and this was Gwen's first truly grown-up outfit ever. Made of blue-grey wool, almost the exact shade of Gwen's eyes, the slim, pleated skirt fell to just above her pretty ankles. The collarless top buttoned at the wrists and neck, and a black belt encircled her waist. Aunt Jenny had included a note with the package giving Gwen the strictest instruction to _only_ wear the dress for church or other occasions where she would have no opportunity to spill or tear, but Grandmother agreed that this day was special enough to warrant the wearing of it.

Gwen almost felt like a princess in her beautiful new dress, even if her hair was still too short and straight to be truly fashionable. When they saw Oliver Grant and Mr. Grant also waiting for the train, she didn't even blush when Grandmother crossed over to say hello.

"Off to Charlottetown, Mrs. Blythe?" Mr. Grant asked.

Grandmother smiled. "Yes, Gwen and I are celebrating our birthdays with a special day in town."

"That sounds splendid," Mr. Grant said. "Oliver and I are visiting Queen's."

"Oh, are you going to be going to Queen's next year, Oliver?" Grandmother asked interestedly.

Oliver shrugged. "I'm not sure, Mrs. Blythe, but I at least wanted to look at the school for myself before making a decision."

"I don't want him to feel that he has to stay at the High just because of his mother and me," Mr. Grant explained. "We want him to explore all his options."

"Very sound," Grandmother said approvingly.

The Grants rode in the same car as Grandmother and Gwen to Charlottetown. The adults did most of the talking, as Gwen was still somewhat shy around her principal and his son, though her new pretty dress did help give her some confidence. Oliver didn't say much either, but Gwen wasn't sure if that was because he was shy or if he was just being polite. She wished she could think of something clever to say to him, but her mind remained blank.

"Enjoy your day, ladies," Mr. Grant said, tipping his hat to them as they disembarked at the station in Charlottetown.

"Thank you," Grandmother called gaily. "Say hello to Queen's for me!" As the Grants moved off, Grandmother looked at Gwen.

"Well, you were awfully quiet on the ride here, Gwen. Did we old folks bore you too much?"

"Oh no," Gwen said seriously. "I always like listening to adults talk. I just never know what to say, myself, so I usually don't say anything at all."

"Well, what about Oliver? You could have talked to him."

Then Gwen _did_ blush. "He's too clever, Grandmother. I'm always afraid I'll sound like an idiot if I talk to him."

"You don't worry about that with Fanny, do you?"

"Sometimes," Gwen admitted with a laugh. "But not usually." She turned thoughtful. "How strange! I never thought of that before. I wonder why I'm so much more nervous around Oliver than I am with Fanny?"

Judging by the blush, Grandmother had a fairly good idea of why that might be, but she wisely held her tongue.

"Come," she said instead. "Charlottetown awaits us!"

* * *

The two women visited an art gallery first, tip-toeing through the carpeted rooms and speaking in hushed voices. Gwen didn't know anything about art, but she and Grandmother had a fine time debating and discussing what they liked and disliked about each one, and seeing where they agreed and disagreed. They both decided they very much liked Vermeer: Grandmother's favourite was "The Milkmaid"; Gwen found herself returning again and again to "The Girl with a Pearl Earring." The haunting expression in the girl's eyes, the way she looked like she was yearning to tell them a secret … it was fascinating.

"I ought," Grandmother said with a slight laugh, pausing in front of "The Lady of Shalott" by Waterhouse, "I ought to say this is my favourite. How romantic I found Elaine when I was your age! Nearly drowning cured me of that, though."

Gwen knew the story well, and she laughed, too. "But just think, Grandmother, if that hadn't happened, Grandfather would never have rescued you, and you might never have forgiven him for calling you Carrots. It _is_ romantic."

"How I bit poor Jane Andrews' head off for insinuating as much," Grandmother mused. "Ah well, it's all a matter of predestination, and Mrs. Lynde and Miss Lavender both told me!"

* * *

After the art gallery (Gwen secretly bought a print of "The Milkmaid" for Grandmother) they moved on to a museum and then, deciding they'd had enough culture for the morning, ate lunch in a small café by the water.

"And what shall we do with our afternoon, my Gwen?" Grandmother asked over her onion soup.

"Shopping, of course," Gwen answered with twinkling eyes. "What else?"

"Excellent," Grandmother declared. "It's been _ages_ since I've been able to do any shopping without your grandfather hovering over my shoulder anxiously asking if I _really_ need this or that."

Gwen laughed merrily. They all knew Grandfather was terribly indulgent, always buying Grandmother expensive presents for no reason at all. Usually it ended with Grandmother scolding him for being so impractical, and Grandfather declaring that the only thing money was good for was to use for one's loved ones.

"And putting food on the table, Dr. Blythe," Lynde would sniff.

"Are we shopping for clothing or other items?" Grandmother asked now.

Gwen had her birthday money from Mother and Dad in her black handbag. They had sent it along with a note telling her to buy anything she wanted (and a promise that a real present was coming soon), but what she _really_ wanted was to spend it on the children. She wanted to get Jo an album for all his India stamps and post-cards; Lee the latest _Nancy Drew_ mystery (personally, Gwen thought the girl-detective was cloying; she had preferred Phil's _Hardy Boy_ books when she was Lee's age); and she desperately wanted to get Phil a microscope like Uncle Carl's. That would cost far more than her limited birthday money would cover, though, so she would settle for a magnifying glass.

After all, _she_ would be getting presents from everyone else, so why would she need to spend the money on herself? Besides, nothing she could find would even come close to matching this beautiful dress from Aunt Jenny!

"No clothes," she told Grandmother firmly. "Not today. The bookstore, though, most certainly, and wherever we can find a good magnifying glass."

"The bookstore," Grandmother said, "is even better than clothing." And then she motioned the waitress over to order some ice cream.

* * *

When they finally returned home that evening, Gwen was tired and content. She hadn't had quite enough money on her own to buy everything she had wanted for everyone (at the last minute, she'd realized that she wanted to get something for Lynde, and for Grandfather as well), but Grandmother had chipped in to make up the difference. Gwen promised to pay her back, but Grandmother wouldn't hear of it.

"Someday, Gwen, when you have grandchildren, you will want to do the same for them. Trust me, having you youngsters around is worth far more to your grandfather and me than anything money can buy."

Gwen laughed a little at the idea of herself as a grandmother. "Why Grandmother," she protested, "I'd have to be married before I could have grandchildren!"

"What, don't tell me you don't ever plan to marry?"

"I don't think I'll ever find a man who would be willing to put up with me," Gwen confessed. "Even Phil gets exasperated with me at times, and he's as close to a saint as any human being could be. My cousin Jeremy is my best friend, and even _he_ gets tired of my clumsiness and stubbornness and awkwardness. Besides, men don't like ugly women."

"My dear Gwen, your grandfather fell in love with me when I was a stubborn, hot-tempered, ignorant little savage, with only the thinnest veneer of civilization laid on me by Marilla Cuthbert. _And_ I had red hair. Someday you'll meet a man who loves you despite—no, because of!—all your flaws, and then you'll know that he's the man for you."

What Grandmother thought, but was wise enough to not say, was that Gwen was delightful, charming, and perfectly beautiful, and that any man would be a fool not to love her.

Some things were simply best left for time to reveal, not a doting grandmother.

They walked companionably home through the darkening evening. Snow was still piled high along the fields, but the air was promising spring. Gwen breathed deeply and smiled. Given enough time, she could come to love this little village more than she ever had loved Kingsport.

Every light in Ingleside was on when they came up the drive, flaming a welcoming beam. Grandmother shook her head.

"Men! They never think of expense."

They crowded onto the verandah—Grandfather and Phil, Lee and Jo, even Lynde, all smiling and waving.

"We turned on all the lights to welcome you!" Lee shouted.

Jo launched himself onto his sister as soon as she came up the steps. "What did you bring me?"

"What makes you think she brought you anything, you greedy blighter?" Phil asked.

Jo smiled serenely. "She _always_ does."

Gwen couldn't hold her laughter back; it bubbled out irrepressibly. As wonderful as it had been, having a day alone with Grandmother, feeling like an independent woman, it was even better to come back to _this_.

"Come inside," she said, wrapping her arm around Jo. "I have presents for _all_ of you."

Jo was pleased with his album ("I was hoping for chocolate," he said candidly, "but this is almost as good."); Lee squealed with delight over the latest adventure of her beloved Nancy Drew; and Phil reassured Gwen that the magnifying glass was just as good, if not better, than the microscope.

"You see, I'm still not entirely sure that I want to be a scientist. I mean, what happens if in another few years I decide I like to do something different, and then I've got this expensive microscope for which I've no use? Whereas a magnifying glass is useful in many different ways."

Gwen knew he was just being kind—science was what he'd loved ever since he was a little boy, and Uncle Carl Meredith, famous entomologist and university professor, was his hero—but she appreciated his words all the same.

"Well, I am very thankful for this tobacco," Grandfather declared, kissing Gwen on the forehead. "Now if only Lynde will let me smoke my pipe inside!"

Lynde shook her head. "Tobacco smell is _dreadful_ to get out of curtains and carpets, Dr. Blythe." Her hands gently caressed the cover of the new cookery book Grandmother had helped Gwen pick out. "You ought not to have gotten this for me, Gwen. Your birthday is supposed to be about you, not you getting things for other people."

Gwen shook her head firmly. "My birthday is about me being happy, and if it makes me happy to give things to those I love, well then, you'll just have to endure it!"

"I like the way you celebrate your birthday," Jo said in satisfaction.

Before going to bed that evening, though, Gwen did receive two presents for herself. One was from Grandmother—a framed print of The Girl with a Pearl Earring, for Gwen to have for her very own. Gwen promptly hung it above her desk in Mother's old room, where she could see it while she was studying.

The other came just as she was changing into her pyjamas and brushing her cropped locks. Lynde knocked on the door and entered the bedroom, her arms full of pink roses. Gwen promptly dropped the brush in surprise.

"Why, Lynde!"

"One of the Drew boys just dropped these off, said he couldn't tell who they were from or he wouldn't get paid," Lynde explained. "They're for you, though."

"Oh!" Gwen took them in her own arms and breathed in their spicy scent. "Roses in March! Who could have done this?" She'd never received roses before, not from anyone.

"Oh, probably your grandfather and brother planned it today," Lynde surmised. "It's the sort of thing they would do."

Lee was hovering behind Lynde, her eyes wide with delight. "Maybe you have a _secret admirer_, Gwennie!"

Gwen laughed. "I think Lynde's theory is more likely, Lee-love."

Lynde hurried off to get a vase and water, and then Gwen arranged the roses on her desk, right below her new picture.

Fifteen, she decided, was going to be a _spectacular_ year.


	7. Chapter 7

Tea with Aunt Ruth Meredith was always a special event. Her grandparents had moved from England to PEI sixty years ago, and one of the only treasures her grandmother had brought was her tea set. It had been passed down to Aunt Ruth's mother when she married, and then to Aunt Ruth when she married Uncle Bruce, and it would go to either Winnie or Ruthie, whichever wed first, on her wedding day.

Every afternoon at three, Aunt Ruth would get out the delicate china cups and saucers, the elegantly patterned teapot, the tray, the slices of lemon and cubes of sugar with the tiny silver tongs, and the darling little cream jug that looked like something out of a dollhouse. In nice weather, she would set it all up out on the porch; when it was cold or rainy she served it in the parlour.

One always minded one's manners at tea with Aunt Ruth. One did not shout, or grab at the scones or biscuits that usually accompanied the drink, or rush through anything. It was a time of gentility and peace.

For that reason, the cousins were not often invited to tea. Aunt Ruth adored them unreservedly all other times, and her doors were always open to them, but tea was sacred, and young people were not always able to control themselves.

So it was a delightful surprise when Gwen received an invitation in the mail one morning to tea at the old West house the next day after school.

"How nice!" Grandmother said when Gwen showed her the invitation. "Ruth must think that you are finally old enough."

Gwen worried her lower lip between her teeth. "But Grandmother, I'm still awfully clumsy. What if I break something, or spill, or do something dreadful? Aunt Ruth will never forgive me."

Grandmother squeezed her hand. "You will do just fine. I'm going to give you the same good advice Marilla Cuthbert gave me when I was nervous about going to tea with Mrs. Allan for the first time. She said, just think of what will be nicest and best for your hostess, and you will do just fine. Your only problem, Gwen, is the same problem I used to have. You're so impetuous and heedless. You wouldn't be half so clumsy if you just slowed down, stopped to think before you acted."

Gwen sighed. "I know. Mums tells me the same thing. The problem is that life is so interesting, and I'm afraid if I stop for even a moment I'll miss something!"

Grandmother laughed. "Oh, my dear, how that takes me back! I used to feel the same way. Trust me, grandchild of mine, you will be able to enjoy far more and experience more if you stop to take it all in, instead of rushing from one thing to the next."

Gwen recognized this for the sound advice it was. "I'll try, Grandmother. That does make good sense. Meanwhile, what shall I wear to Aunt Ruth's?"

This was a serious decision. She couldn't wear her Sunday dress, since she was going to be at school before tea and might get it dirty. Her usual school clothing, however, was all very practical and not particularly pretty.

"You see," Gwen confided to Grandmother and Lynde as all three stood examining her wardrobe, "Mother and Dad make plenty of money for all our needs, but not for frivolous things like clothes … especially when they know that I'm going to wear them out within a few months time." She looked ashamed as she said this, thinking of Mother's exasperated "Oh Gwen, not again," whenever she would come home with grass-stains on her skirt or holes in her elbows after a ball-game with the boys, or even just a school picnic. She never knew how it happened … it just did.

She did like pretty clothes, like Fanny's, but she never knew how to wear anything fancy or frilly. Mother once told her, "You have to wear the clothes, not let the clothes wear you," and whenever she wore anything with lace or ruffles, that's exactly how she felt.

Lynde shook her head and clicked her tongue over the state of Gwen's clothes. "I can see I'm going to have to teach you how to mend your own things."

Gwen brightened immediately. "Oh, could you? Mother hates sewing, herself, and so she's never taught me, but I would love to know how to do something useful." She suddenly felt worried. "Unless you think I'm unteachable. My Aunt Jenny says I don't have a domestic bone in my body."

"I've never yet met someone I couldn't at least teach how to sew a straight line and bake a decent loaf of bread," Lynde said with grim determination. "We can start lessons this week, if you like and Mrs. Blythe approves. Day after tomorrow, since you're having tea with Mrs. Meredith tomorrow."

"May I, Grandmother?"

Grandmother's eyes twinkled. "As long as I'm able to sit in and watch the lessons, by all means. I do so hate to be left out of you girls' doings!"

Thinking of girls made Gwen think of Lee. "Lynde, would you mind if we invited Lee to join us, too? She might like to learn some of these things, too."

Lynde waved an airy hand. "Invite whoever you like, Gwen. I'll teach 'em all."

"That settles that, then," Grandmother said briskly. "Now all we need to do is see what we can cobble together now for tomorrow."

* * *

The next afternoon, promptly at three, Gwen knocked on the front door of the old West house, her schoolbag still slung over her shoulder. Aunt Ruth opened the door with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Gwen! Aren't you prompt, how very nice. Please, come in!"

Aunt Ruth was a very pretty woman, with curly dark hair and sparkling brown eyes. She was petite, and round as a ripe berry, with soft white hands and a rippling voice. She always wore pretty dresses, too, with simple lines and rich colours. Gwen admired her greatly, and always felt like a stick (a clumsy stick) in her presence.

"How pretty you look, Gwen!" Aunt Ruth added as she stepped aside so Gwen could step into the immaculate hall. "That rose in a lovely colour on you."

"Thank you." Gwen was about to tell Aunt Ruth all about how her pink skirt had been a Sunday dress with a hopelessly stained bodice from dumping a cup of tea down her front one day after church, and how Lynde had simply snipped off the top and turned it into a skirt, and then Grandmother had found a cream sweater that had belonged to Aunt Rilla when she was fifteen and washed and pressed it for Gwen to wear, and Gwen had been extra careful all through school not to trip or slip or spill anything to get her pretty new outfit dirty. Then she remembered Grandmother's advice—think about what will be nicest and best for Aunt Ruth. Did Aunt Ruth really want to hear all those silly little details?

"Grandmother and Lynde helped me," she said instead.

Aunt Ruth laughed. "I should have guessed as soon as I saw the pink! It's your grandmother's favourite colour, on account of her never being able to wear it when she was young. She's always so delighted when any of her granddaughters look good in pink."

So that was why Grandmother always sent her pink dresses for presents.

"Lynde is going to teach me how sew and cook," Gwen now said, following Aunt Ruth into the parlour. "She's very accomplished at that sort of thing."

"That will be very nice," Aunt Ruth said, motioning for Gwen to sit down on one of the pretty upholstered chairs. "My mother always did all the household work, and when I married Bruce I couldn't even boil water! He was so gracious about all my mistakes, but I felt like such a dunce. I had been top of my class in college, and didn't even know how to fry an egg. His mother took me under her wing and taught me everything she knew, but it would have been nice to have a Lynde to show me things before I got married."

"Fanny is the top of our class," Gwen confessed. "I'm not even very bright in school." She very, very carefully took the teacup and saucer from Aunt Ruth and held them like they were made of eggshells. "Sometimes I don't think there's anything I'm very good at, except for getting into scrapes. Oh, and maybe running, now that Coach Flagg has started training me."

"You'll find your niche sometime, my dear," Aunt Ruth reassured her. "I wasn't very good in school, either, until my very last year when I suddenly discovered a passionate love for history, which then carried me through right through college, and has stayed with me to this day! And look at your mother—it wasn't until after she and your father were married that she discovered she had a knack for writing. And now her column is renowned throughout Canada! I've been following her India articles, by the way, and it sounds fascinating."

Gwen brightened, now that they were talking about Mother and not her. "Yes, doesn't it? Mother is so good at writing; I almost feel like I'm right there with her and Dad."

"Instead of here, enduring a cold PEI winter," Aunt Ruth finished with a pretty grimace.

"Oh, I like winter here," Gwen said comfortably, taking a tiny sip of her tea. It was fragrant and rich, reminding her of all the English novels she had ever read … Miss Austen and Mrs. Gaskell's books, and all of the Dickens novels.

"Sponge cake, dear?" Aunt Ruth asked, offering her a plate.

Gwen wasn't exactly sure how to manage both her teacup and a plate, but she didn't want to be rude and refuse the cake—besides, Aunt Ruth's sponge cake was renowned through the region. She hesitated, and then finally broke down.

"Aunt Ruth," she said with disarming frankness, "I would adore some cake, but I just don't know how to hold my teacup and a plate and be able to eat or drink all at the same time!"

She was mortified as soon as the words left her mouth, but to her surprise Aunt Ruth tossed her head back and began to laugh. "Oh, my dear Gwen, how well I remember having the same difficulties when I was a little girl just starting to share teatime with my mother!"

"Really?" Gwen was amazed. First Aunt Ruth—that matchless cook and housekeeper—confessed to not knowing how to do anything of the sort before she was married. Now she was admitting to having once been as uncertain of her own limbs as Gwen herself was!

"Oh, I was terribly clumsy," Aunt Ruth continued, amazing Gwen still further. "Even to this day, I still daren't wear lace on my cuffs or trimming my hem, for fear I'll catch it and tear it off."

"Is that why …" Gwen swallowed the rest of her question, thinking that calling Aunt Ruth's clothing "plain" might be considered rude.

"Why I dress so simply?" Aunt Ruth finished for her. "Yes, one of the reasons. Also because I simply loathe ironing frills and ruffles. You might have noticed that the girls' clothing is all simple, too."

Winnie and Ruthie always looked charming, but thinking about it, Gwen realized that their clothes were well-made but plain.

"Ruthie likes it, but Winnie complains," Aunt Ruth continued. "I've told her that once she is old enough to sew her own clothes, and launder them, and iron them, she may make them any fool way she pleases, but while I still do all that for her, she must follow my whims!"

"But you and the girls always look so nice," Gwen said, setting her saucer down gently on a side table lest she drop it in her enthusiasm. "A person doesn't even notice that your clothes are plain unless one really stops to think about it." It must be, she thought, just like Mother's statement about wearing one's clothes instead of letting them wear one.

"I'm so plump that clean lines and no fuss suits me better," Aunt Ruth said. "Ruffles and lace just make me look even rounder. The girls will be just the same way, although they will hopefully inherit Bruce's height to balance out my shape."

"Oh Aunt Ruth, I think you're beautiful," Gwen said with such obvious sincerity that Aunt Ruth beamed.

"Thank you, dear. You're going to be a stunner if a few years time, if I may be allowed a bit of modern slang."

Gwen giggled.

"Once you grow into those arms and legs, and your hair gets a bit of length to it … well, my dear, you could dress in sackcloth and people would take notice!"

Gwen blushed. "I don't want people to notice me."

"You don't now," said Aunt Ruth wisely, "but you might change your mind in a few years time."

"All I hope," Gwen said wistfully, "is that maybe someday I'll look a little bit like Mother. She never seems to think about her looks at all, but she always is so polished and controlled and elegant."

"Give it time," Aunt Ruth advised. "It will come."

Gwen sighed. "Grandmother says that, too. Sometimes I think waiting to grow up is that hardest thing on earth."

Aunt Ruth sighed too. "Not as hard as the actual growing up."

They turned the conversation to lighter matters then, and Aunt Ruth showed Gwen how to manage her plate and cup, and before long the twins came downstairs after their nap and were allowed a little tea themselves, heavily doused with cream and sugar. With their little round faces, dark curls, and bright eyes they looked just like two little robins, almost ready to leave the nest for the first time.

"They start school next autumn, you know," Aunt Ruth said. "Goodness, how time flies! It seems just yesterday I was holding them in my arms, wondering dazedly how I had managed to carry twins without ever even suspecting it until the time came to deliver the second one! Goodness, how Bruce was shocked as he caught her—Winnie, it was, Ruthie was born first. 'Twins, by Jove,' he shouted, and I told him there had better only be two, because I was not pushing out one more!"

Gwen laughed with her, and even the twins giggled a little.

Soon enough, Uncle Bruce came home, and Gwen realized that she had stayed far longer than was proper for an afternoon tea.

"I'm sorry," she apologized to Aunt Ruth. "I was just having such a good time I didn't even know how late it had gotten!"

"Neither did I," Aunt Ruth said. "I haven't done a thing for supper—oh dear!"

"Let me run you home, Gwen," Uncle Bruce said. "It's getting dark out there."

"Oh no," Gwen said. She knew how expensive gasoline was. "It's not that far, Uncle Bruce. I'll be home before it gets truly dark."

She put on her coat and hat, gave kisses all around (realizing only as she was walking down the hill that she gave Winnie two and Ruthie none), thanked Aunt Ruth fervently for a lovely, lovely time, and darted out the door before Uncle Bruce could insist on driving her.

It was a beautiful evening, despite it being March, a month Gwen privately considered the ugliest out of the year, with November coming a close second. The snow was mostly gone from the ground, though more was threatened for later in the week. The light from the setting sun and rising moon combined to turn the hard, bare ground and black empty limbs of trees into objects of mystery and beauty. Gwen was walking slowly, savouring the beauty of it all, when she heard a firm, quick step coming behind her, and turned her head to look into the smiling face of Oliver Grant.

"I thought I recognized you by your walk," he said, falling into step beside her. "Where've you been, out this time of day?"

"At Aunt Ruth's," Gwen answered, motioning behind her vaguely. She was obscurely pleased to think that Oliver paid attention to the way she walked enough to know it even when he couldn't see her face. "What about you?"

"Oh, I stayed late at school working on a project, and only left when the cleaning lady shooed me out," he said with a laugh. "Then I saw you, and thought I would offer to walk you home."

"That's very kind of you," Gwen said, hoping it was dim enough he couldn't see her blush. "I don't want you to go out of your way, though."

He winked. "Secretly, I'm hoping to get invited to stay to supper at Ingleside," he whispered conspiratorially. "Mum is a wonderful woman, but her cooking is nothing compared to Lynde's."

"In that case, then," Gwen laughed, feeling a little flat at the same time, that Lynde's cooking held more appeal than her company, "you are more than welcome to join me."

"Thanks," he said.

As they walked, Gwen cast shy glances at the young man by her side. Oliver was the second-smartest student in their class, coming right behind Fanny. Of course, with his father as the principal and his mother as one of the teachers, he could hardly help but be smart.

He was handsome, too, with his dark hair and eyes and swarthy skin. Most of the girls in their class were in love with him. Gwen didn't care much about silly things like that, but she did respect Oliver tremendously, and she felt very pleased to be walking with him down the Glen's main road.

Even if he was doing it only for Lynde's cooking, instead of her scintillating conversation!


	8. Chapter 8

In April, when the snows finally melted and the mud started to harden, Aunt Nan and Uncle Jerry made their promised visit from Avonlea to the Glen. Accompanying them were dark-haired, jolly Gil and sweet brown-eyed Rosie, as well as one of Lynde's younger brothers, Abe.

Gil and Phil immediately vanished in the direction of Rainbow Valley, Phil animatedly telling his cousin all about the water creatures he was studying in the brook. Lee and Leigh swooped in on Rosie and dragged her off to the House of Dreams, with Jo and Owen trailing after, arguing vociferously over who was prettier, Rosie or Lucy Douglas.

That left Uncle Jerry to talk with Grandfather and Uncle Jem, and Abe and Lynde to settle down in the kitchen for a cosy chat, and Grandmother, Gwen, Aunt Nan, and Aunt Faith to put on their sweaters and gossip on the verandah (though spring was coming, the days were still chilly).

"So," Aunt Nan said, pulling out her knitting. "Tell me all the Glen news!"

"The biggest news is that Persis is trying to find property in the village to open a veterinary clinic," Aunt Faith said.

Aunt Nan shook her glossy nut-brown head. If she had been a little older or more suspicious-minded, Gwen might have guessed that it was not due to nature that Aunt Nan's hair was still so glossy and free of grey. Grandmother and Aunt Faith knew, but they loved Nan despite her little vanities.

"Well, if Shirley doesn't mind, I suppose … I'm still old-fashioned enough to not like wives working outside the home. Who makes the meals? And cleans the house? And takes care of the children? It was bad enough when Persis was just making house calls, but now a clinic …" She shook her head and clicked her tongue.

"Mother works," Gwen said, stung to a defence of her aunt, and by association, her mother. "She writes a column, every week. And Mrs. Grant works; she still teaches."

"Oh Gwen, writing is different from _real_ work," Aunt Nan said, at which Grandmother bristled just a little. "And Gertrude Grant—well, she's only out of the house when the children are, while they're all at school, so that's not the same either. Well, Persis and Shirley have always gone their own way, to be sure! And they're happy, so I won't judge them."

"Myself, I envy Persis just slightly," Aunt Faith said. "Now that Jack's sixteen and practically grown, and Jem is so busy with the doctoring, I find myself at loose ends quite often. I wish I had some sort of work to occupy myself. As Mother Blythe knows, I have no knack for cooking or knitting or sewing or anything domestic!"

"Why don't you get back into nursing?" Grandmother asked. "You enjoyed it during the War, I know, and Jem and Bruce are always complaining that they don't have enough reliable nurses."

Aunt Faith looked startled. "I never thought about that. I'd have to take some sort of course … it's been ages since I've done anything of the nursing variety."

"Oh Faith, you really should!" cried Aunt Nan, abandoning her former position with startling rapidity. Gwen saw Grandmother smother a smile behind her hand. "Of course you could take a refresher course; it wouldn't be difficult for someone as clever as you at all." She sighed. "Sometimes I look back on my Redmond days and wonder if it was really worth all the expense and work. Here I am, a farmer's wife, raising my two rascals and never thinking about philosophy or mathematics or literature at all. Of course, back then Jerry had great and grand plans, too. The War changed all that."

Aunt Faith patted her hand sympathetically. "But just think of how much happier Jerry is as a farmer, out in the quiet and rest, than he would have been otherwise."

Aunt Nan dabbed at her eyes with the soft pink garment she was knitting. "Oh, I know! When I think of all the soldiers who suffered far more from shell-shock than he did, or the ones who were physically injured so badly … Carl's eye … and when I look at Jerry romping through the fields with the children, laughing and having a good time … well, a life of quiet seclusion doesn't seem so bad at all."

Grandmother wasn't smiling at all anymore. "So much sorrow from the war," she mourned. "Carl's eye, Jem's leg, Jerry's back injury … and even those who didn't take physical harm wounded in their souls, as with Jerry's shell-shock. Oh girls, sometimes I think I've lived too long in the world! When I see the Germans re-occupying the Rhineland, I wonder what the point was of the last war, and if we're going to see yet another one."

"Surely not, Mother," Aunt Nan said. "I _have_ to believe that some good came out of the War. And I can't imagine there would be another one. King Edward would never allow it!"

"I wouldn't count on _that_," Aunt Faith said cynically. "He's as pro-German a monarch as England has seen in generations."

"Oh," Gwen gasped, making the ladies all jump. They'd almost forgotten her presence. "Oh Grandmother, you don't really think there'll be another war, do you?"

Grandmother put on a slightly guilty smile. "Of course not, Gwen. I expect I'm just tired, that's all."

But the shadow didn't leave her eyes, and Gwen was not fully comforted.

Phil was turning fourteen in just a few weeks. He would be eighteen in four years—old enough to fight. If there _was_ another war …

But Gwen couldn't think of that. Even if there was, Phil wouldn't go off to fight in it. He had too much sense.

Her soul was still troubled, though, and before long she slipped away from the ladies on the verandah and wandered off toward Rainbow Valley. Phil and Gil had abandoned the brook—she suspected they had joined the others at the House of Dreams. When Aunt Persis was there, the very air shimmered with laughter, and even when she wasn't fun seemed to lurk around every corner. Grandmother said that so many happy people had lived there, they had permeated the essence of the house of joy.

Gwen didn't necessarily want the company of her siblings and cousins right then, however. Nor was an atmosphere of raucous fun exactly what she wanted, either. For the first time, she started to think about what it must have been like for Mother, Dad, and the aunts and uncles when they were young and the Great War was happening. They were once young and carefree, too, and they all had to grow up _awfully_ quickly. Aunt Rilla was her age, fifteen (or nearly there) when it started.

Gwen shivered. And Uncle Walter had never come back.

"There won't be another war," she said aloud to a nearby birch tree, which shook its limbs either in agreement or mockery (she couldn't tell which).

"Who says there will be one?" Fanny asked, ducking unexpectedly past an old maple tree.

"Hullo, Fan," Gwen said listlessly. "Aunt Nan—and Aunt Faith—and Grandmother were talking about war."

"Well, I shouldn't think there'd be another one," Fanny said. "After all, didn't we make Germany sign a treaty?"

"Yes, but Grandfather says the Germans made a mockery of that when they occupied the Rhineland again." Gwen remembered his angry face at the breakfast table and shivered.

"Oh—the Rhineland," Fanny said vaguely. "Who really cares about that, anyway? Listen, I came over here to see if you wanted to study ancient history at my house. I forgot that your aunt and uncle and cousins were here, though."

"No, it's fine," Gwen said. "They won't even notice I'm gone." She felt a pang as she said it, but she knew it was true. Phil was bust with Gil, and Jo and Lee with the other younger ones, and her aunts and uncles and grandparents were all occupied with their own interests. She was at loose ends, as Mother put it.

Besides, it would be much more pleasant to study long-ago wars than think about one happening in their future!

* * *

Gwen returned from Fanny's house in the twilit evening (mentally exhausted and a little depressed from trying to keep up with her friend's memory), and decided to slip in through the side door rather than make a grand entrance through the front. As she did, she heard her name through the open parlour window. She _knew_ she shouldn't eavesdrop, but curiosity as to what was being said overcame her scruples, and she halted to hear.

"Helen Flagg says Gwen is one of the best natural runners she's ever seen," Grandfather said, pride evident in his voice. "She says, with proper training, our Gwennie could even go to the Olympics!"

Aunt Nan laughed—not meanly, but it still stung a little to the listener in the bushes. "Well, I certainly hope she can at least learn to be less clumsy! Right now I'd say she's more apt to win by knocking her opponents over than by outrunning them."

Gwen glowered at the window. "I'm not _that_ bad," she muttered under her breath. At the moment, even Coach's breathtaking compliment and Grandfather's pride paled beside Aunt Nan's gentle, tolerant amusement.

"Now Nan," Uncle Jerry said. "Wouldn't you like to be aunt and uncle to a famous athlete?"

For a moment, Gwen puffed up again—until Uncle Jerry chuckled, and she realized he was joking, too.

"You may have your fun now," Grandfather said firmly, "but someday our Gwen will make you laugh out of the other side of your face. Mark my words, she's got a grand future before her."

Gwen had to blink sudden stinging tears out of her eyes. Grandfather's confidence in her was almost more painful than her aunt and uncle's mockery. She desperately wanted to prove him right—and just as desperately feared she would disappoint him.

"It doesn't matter to me whether Gwen becomes an Olympian or just runs for her own pleasure, or if she proves to be a brilliant scholar, or decides she wants to settles down and raise lots of fat babies," Grandmother said, so loudly that Gwen guiltily wondered if Grandmother knew she was listening. "I _am_ proud of her, just as she is now, and I will always be proud of her, no matter what she does."

"Well said, Anne-girl," Grandfather applauded.

"Even if you do say that about all your grandchildren," Aunt Nan said, still teasing.

"And it's true for all of them," Grandmother laughed.

Gwen crept past the window and escaped into the house and up the stairs to Mother's room. There, she sat down at the desk and looked up at the Girl with a Pearl Earring.

"I'm glad that Grandmother and Grandfather are proud of me already, just for being me," she whispered, thinking it out aloud. "And I'm glad to know they'll love me no matter what I do with my life." Mother and Dad were the same way, and just thinking about that unconditional love made Gwen feel stronger. "But I would like—I _would_—to do something grand, to make _everyone_ in the family take notice."

To make Aunt Nan and Uncle Jerry forget their teasing, was what she meant. She loved her aunt and uncle, and she knew that they loved her, but sometimes she got a wee bit tired of always being labeled "the clumsy one." Phil was "the smart one;" Lee "the sweet one;" Jo defied all labels (except Uncle Shirley's extremely apt _enfant terrible_); Rosie "the pretty one;" Gil "the clown;" Chloe "the proud one;" Jack "the one who would go far" … every cousin had his or her own label, and rarely did the aunts or uncles stop to see beyond that. Sometimes Gwen didn't mind; it almost made her feel safe, as though she always knew her place in the family. Of late, though, when she herself was changing and growing so much, she wished her extended family wouldn't be so quick to assume she was the same as she had always been, and would always be.

Did Coach _really_ think she had potential to go to the Olympics? Gwen knew she was fast—knew that Coach had great hopes for her—but she'd never thought about the running lasting past high school. In fact, she had never thought about her running lasting past this year; next winter Mother and Dad would be back from India and they'd all go back to Kingsport, where Gwen's school had no track and field team.

But maybe—just maybe—somehow things could work out so she could keep running. She did love it, even after just a couple of months. She felt strong when she ran, confident and sure of herself, in a way she never felt any other time.

Gwen sat up straighter. She would give running her all, she decided. Even if she couldn't keep up with it once they were back home—even if she never made it to the Olympics—even if she never won a meet against another school—she would do her very, very best. She would make Coach proud, and justify Grandfather's confidence in her, and prove to Aunt Nan that there was something she could do well.

She sat there at her desk, forgetful of the late hour, watching the stars twinkle in the heavens above, dreaming great dreams until past midnight. Grandmother, tiptoeing through long after everyone else was asleep, found her there, with her head pillowed on her desk, eyes closed and a smile on her sleeping lips.

Grandmother shook her head and pulled the blanket off the bed, tucking it securely around Gwen's shoulders and lap. A few years ago, she could have carried the child back to bed, but Gwen was too tall and sturdy now for Grandmother's frail old bones. No, she would have to sleep there and simply suffer the stiff neck in the morning as a result.

"Bless the child," Grandmother said fondly.


	9. Chapter 9

"What are you doing, Gwen o'mine?" Grandfather asked fondly, wandering down to Rainbow Valley one afternoon to see his granddaughter sprawled full-length under one of the maple trees, elbows on the ground, chin propped up on her hands.

Though none of the Blythe children had ever had fair hair ("So common" Susan Baker used to sniff), if Grandfather squinted just a little bit he could _almost_ pretend Gwen was her mother at age fifteen. Gwen inherited her colouring from her father's side of the family, but her slender figure and the shape of her face were very reminiscent of her mother—as was the breathless anticipation with which she greeted each new day, just waiting for its wonderful possibilities to come forth.

That anticipation had vanished from all his children during the War. Grandfather frowned and shook the thought away. He wouldn't let past sorrows ruin today.

Gwen looked up at him and beamed. She was still wearing her track uniform, sweat-stained and wrinkled though it was. "I've been watching a chipmunk, Grandfather. He's the cutest little thing I ever saw. He keeps darting out between the roots, then he sees me and darts back, and he can't quite make up his mind if I'm safe or not."

Grandfather stifled a groan as he lowered himself to the ground beside her. "Your Uncle Walter used to write letters between two chipmunks, when he was a lad. Susan saved all of them—I wonder what happened to them after she passed on? I'll have to see if your grandmother still has them."

"Oh, do! Jo would love to read them. That's just the sort of thing he would do. He's been writing letters from Teddy and Bluebell to the stuffed animals back home ever since we arrived, and he insists on mailing them every week, 'care of' Jeremy, who he left with strict instructions to see to it that the animals get them."

Grandfather laughed. "Will Jeremy have to break a window to keep that promise?"

"No, he slides them in under the door, and Jo is convinced that the animals will come downstairs and collect them. Phil and I are already planning that whichever of us gets to the house first, after we come home next winter, will quick grab the letters and take them up to Jo's room for him."

"You want to help him keep his fantasies alive," Grandfather nodded.

"As long as we possibly can," Gwen agreed firmly.

"That's good," Grandfather said. "I know it's not the fashion these days, but I truly think children should believe in fairies and the like as long as they can."

Gwen flipped over onto her back, looking up, up, up through the latticework of the green branches overhead to the blue sky. "It's easy to believe in fairies here," she said dreamily.

"I don't see fairies here," Grandfather said with a little sigh, "but I do see ghosts."

Gwen shuddered. "Ghosts? In our Rainbow Valley? I don't believe it!"

"These are good ghosts," Grandfather reassured her. "Not the sort of ghosts your grandmother and Diana Barry used to concoct." He pointed down to the brook. "There, you see, I can see a little red-headed chap fishing, with a brown boy sitting next to him, intently watching his every move."

"Uncle Jem and Uncle Shirley," Gwen said, catching on immediately.

"Underneath the White Lady," that old, venerable birch, "is your Uncle Walter as he was when he was Phil's age: black hair; silver eyes; white face; a dreamer of great dreams." Grandfather's voice quivered just slightly, and Gwen laid her slim white hand over his brown one where it lay on the green grass. Grandfather grasped it tight and continued in a stronger voice.

"He's reading his poetry to your mother, of course. She is all red hair and green eyes and freckled limbs, as young and beautiful as you are now, my Gwen. Rilla, with her curly reddish-brown hair and chubby legs, is hovering nearby jealously, wishing Walter would pay the same ('thame,' as she would have said) attention to _her_ that he is to Di."

"And where is Aunt Nan?" Gwen asked, shivering just a little. It was the middle of the day—and the May sun was shining—but just the same, Grandfather's fancies unnerved her slightly.

Grandfather pointed to a patch of emerald moss. "There, lying on her back with her arms behind her nut-brown head, dreaming up some sort of fancy. Most likely she's imagining that she's an elvish princess on her couch of moss. The manse children and Leslie and Owen's two are nearby—I can hear them calling out their greetings—but it's our seven that I see."

"Seven?" Gwen wondered.

Grandfather refocused his gaze on her. "I don't suppose you've ever heard about Joy."

"Who is Joy?"

"Joyce Blythe—our first baby, your grandmother and me. Our little daughter who only lived one day." Grandfather's eyes were misty as he spoke. "We named her Joyce, and called her Joy for all the happiness she brought to our lives. Just one day … but it was a day of joy, Gwen."

Gwen felt tears well up in her own eyes. "Nobody ever told me about her," she whispered. "I always thought Uncle Jem was the first."

"Your grandmother and I never talked about her much, not even to each other, and certainly not to the children. They knew that there had been a baby before Jem who hadn't lived, and that was the end of it. None of them had ever met her, so it never seemed very real to them, I suppose."

Gwen wiped her eyes with the backs of her hand. "What was she like?"

"She had very fair skin—like yours—and great big grey-green eyes like Lee's. Her hair was very dark brown, like Aunt Nan's, and she was just perfect, Gwennie, except for the fact that she couldn't live."

"I'm sorry," Gwen said, her heart breaking over an ancient sorrow.

Grandfather cleared his throat. "Don't be. Your grandmother and I have lost two children, one at birth and one to war. Of the two, Joy's death is by far the easier to bear. Besides, I can still see her, along with the rest of my children's ghosts. She's over by Jem and Shirley, holding Shirley's hand and teasing Jem about something. He's pretending to ignore her, but I can see the smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. None of the children can resist their big sister."

As he spoke, Gwen could almost see the scene herself. She saw a young woman right about her own age, maybe a year or so older, wearing a white dress. Her brown hair was pulled back in a simple braid with a few wisps working their way loose to frame her face. Her eyes shone with the same luminescence that Mother's always did. Uncle Shirley—such a funny, sturdy little boy!—was looking at her with undisguised adoration, and Uncle Jem had given up trying to look indifferent and was laughing outright.

Then Joy lifted her gaze and met Gwen's eyes. She smiled, nodded, and in the blink of an eye, they all vanished.

"Oh," Gwen said, startled.

"You saw them too, didn't you?" Grandfather said. "Your grandmother is the dreamer, but whenever I'm in Rainbow Valley, I swear I'm under a spell that makes me see things."

"Oh, I—I wish they were still here," Gwen said confusedly. "I mean—I know Uncle Jem and Uncle Shirley and Aunt Rilla and Mother and Aunt Nan are all still here—but I wish they could be here as _children_, with Uncle Walter and Joy—" she couldn't think of that radiant young woman as an aunt, somehow— "all playing together, and being our friends."

"And somehow," Grandfather mused, "a little red-headed orphan and young lad hungry for friendship joining in as well." He smiled. "Maybe in heaven we'll all be the same age, and be companions."

"Oh, I like that idea!" Gwen exclaimed happily. "And I think you must have been just like Jack when you were a boy, Grandfather."

"Well, knowing in what high regard you all hold Jack, I consider that a very great compliment," Grandfather told her. He rose stiffly to his feet. "Oo-ooh! These old bones don't care very much for sitting on the ground anymore. Best come inside soon, Gwen. Lynde won't be happy if she sees that uniform like that."

"Oops." Gwen looked down at her shorts and lightweight sweater guiltily. "I forgot that I hadn't bothered changing after practice. I snuck here the back way, so I wouldn't meet anyone."

"Well, that's a relief, at least," Grandfather twinkled at her. "Wouldn't want anyone to think we were raising a hussy here."

"No," Gwen laughed. "Just a hoyden!"

* * *

The next day was Saturday, their "day of freedom," as Jo dramatically called it. As usual, Lee was down at the House of Dream with Leigh, but the other three Blake children were lolling in Rainbow Valley after breakfast when Jack, Oliver, and Fanny found them.

"What are we up to today, kids?" Jack asked agreeable. Gwen would have bristled at being called a "kid" by anyone else, but coming from Jack it was acceptable. Besides, she was too busy trying not to blush at the sight of Oliver to bristle at anything.

"Recovering," Jo said with a huge sigh.

"Recovering from what?" Fanny asked, her eyes wide with alarm.

"_School_," Jo answered.

"We were thinking about doing some fishing today," Jack said, and Gwen noticed that he and Oliver were both carrying rods and creels. "Care to join us?"

"And how," Phil said with alacrity. "C'mon Jo, let's get our gear." He paused right before dashing up to the house. "Gwen, do you want us to get yours, too?"

Fanny squeaked with dismay. "Gwen, you _fish_?"

"Gwen's the best out of all of us," Phil said proudly.

"Not Jeremy," Jo reminded him. "Nobody's better than Jeremy."

"I meant out of _us_, we four," Phil explained. "Well, Gwen?"

Gwen hesitated. She did love to fish, but she didn't want to leave Fanny out, either. "Not today," she decided reluctantly.

Jo rolled his eyes, but Phil gave her a little smile and nod, showing that he understood her choice, and approved it. Gwen grinned back at him.

"I wouldn't want to make you all look bad."

Jack sputtered out a laugh as Phil grinned back and raced after Jo up the hill, and after a moment Oliver's rich, deep laugh joined his.

"I'd say that sounds like a challenge, eh, Oliver?" Jack asked, nudging his friend in the ribs.

"Not one I'll take," Oliver said, shaking his head. "Everyone knows I'm the worst fisherman in the Glen. I'll be lucky if I bring _one_ home."

"I wouldn't say that," Jack said, considering. "One might leap out of my creel and into yours. You never know."

The boys rejoined them then, and the little group walked down to the Glen pond, Jack and Jo in the lead, and Fanny and Gwen trailing.

"School's almost out for the year," Fanny said. "Are you getting nervous about exams?"

Gwen shook her head. "I'm more nervous about the final meet next week."

"But you've been winning everything all season," Fanny said. "How can you be more nervous about that than exams?"

"I already know everything I'm going to learn, regarding exams," Gwen said. "Whether I pass or fail has already been decided. But the meet … well, this is our biggest, and I don't want to let Coach or the girls down."

"Or the rest of the school," Phil added, turning his head to join the conversation. "Everyone expects you to win."

Gwen made a face at him. "Thank you very much for making me more nervous!"

"Just stating the facts," Phil said calmly.

"You'll do fine, Gwen," Oliver reassured her.

"Thank you," Gwen said, wishing she didn't feel so tongue-tied around him.

"Shh!" Jo turned around to glare at them. "We're getting close to the pond. Do you want the fish to _hear_ you?"

"Sorry, Jo-Jo," Gwen whispered.

While the four boys fished, Gwen and Fanny sat a short distance away (far enough that Jo deemed it safe) and chatted. Fanny couldn't stop worrying about exams, and Gwen couldn't take her thoughts from the final meet. Coach and everyone else thought she was going to be wonderful (except for Margie MacAllister, who had already told her she thought Gwen was going to trip and make a fool of herself in front of everyone), and she was so afraid of letting them all down.

If only Mother was there to give her good advice and practical comfort! She'd written encouragingly, of course, but it wasn't the same as having her right there.

Beside her, Fanny suddenly stopped talking and sighed.

"What?" Gwen asked, afraid she had missed something important.

"Do you think he'll _ever_ notice I'm alive?" Fanny asked plaintively.

Gwen followed the direction of her eyes. "Jack? Of course he knows you're alive. You're one of his friends."

Fanny looked at her in exasperation. "Not like that. I mean, you know."

"Oh," Gwen said slowly, light dawning. "You mean, like a boy-friend."

Fanny blushed so virulently her face almost glowed. "He's just … he's so nice, and he's smart, and handsome …"

"Do you want me to ask him if he likes you?" Gwen offered.

"No!" Fanny squeaked. "I don't want him to know."

"I wouldn't tell him that you wanted to know, of course," Gwen said. "I would just say that I had been wondering, since you're the smartest girl in school, and he'e one of the smartest boys, and everyone knows how pretty you are …"

Fanny shook her head violently. "No! Thank you, though. I just don't want him even thinking about it, unless it's from him."

Gwen shrugged. "If you change your mind, let me know." Personally, she thought her plan was both sensible and discreet. Phil would have been proud.

"What about you and Oliver?" Fanny asked.

Gwen gulped. "What do you mean?" Now it was her turn to blush.

Fanny rolled her eyes. "There you go again. Every time someone even mentions his name, you blush! When he talks to you, you can barely function."

"That's not true!"

"Close enough."

"We're just friends," Gwen said. "I don't understand why I blush around him, but I think it's because everyone else is half in love with him, and that makes me nervous." She watched him help Jo take a small sunfish off his hook, laughing and congratulating the younger boy. "I do admire him, but not romantically." At least, she didn't _think_ it was romance.

"Too bad," Fanny said.

"Why? Does he like me?" And why did that make her both excited and nervous?

"No," Fanny said calmly, then corrected herself. "At least, not that I know of. No, I just thought that if you and Oliver were a couple, and Jack and I were a couple … we'd have lots of fun, that's all."

Gwen ordered her stomach to settle back where it belonged. "We have plenty of fun now," she said decisively. "And all without romance. I'm too young to fall in love, anyway."

"Well, I'm not!" Fanny laughed. "As much as I'm looking forward to graduating from high school and going on to university, I'm looking forward just as much to having a boy-friend, and going steady in a few years!"

"I just want to get through the rest of this year," Gwen said. "I'm not thinking about university or boy-friends or anything—at least, not until Mother and Dad come home!"


	10. Chapter 10

Family and friends crowded near, congratulating Gwen on her finish. She smiled and thanked them, holding back her own disappointment until she was alone. By the time she finally escaped the throng of well-wishers and had changed back into her everyday clothes, she felt like her cheeks might crack from holding the smile in place for so long.

Grandfather had offered to treat them all to ice cream, but Gwen excused herself.

"I think I'd just like to head back to Ingleside, if you don't mind," she said politely. Seeing Jo's face fall, she laughed and added, "But don't let me deprive the rest of you! You go, enjoy yourselves."

"But you're the star," Fanny protested. She was positively beaming over Gwen's success, and with happiness at being included in the family celebration—so close to Jack.

Gwen shook her head. "Honestly, I'm just tired right now. I'm not going to be good company for anyone. Really, I want you all to have ice cream."

"You're the best sister," Jo told her happily. "Even if you aren't the best runner."

Phil swatted at him, but Jo ducked aside with the ease of long practice.

"Are you sure, Gwen?" Grandmother asked.

Gwen nodded decisively. "_Really_."

Finally, they all left her alone and left the school for the pharmacy, freeing her to be herself and _think_.

Third place—out of all the schools on the Island—was a triumph, so Coach said. For someone as new to this as Gwen was, part of a brand-new team to boot, it was a spectacular success. Grandfather had cheered himself hoarse; all the Glen St. Mary Blythes and Merediths were beside themselves with pride at their Gwen distinguishing herself so. She ought to have been bursting with pride herself.

So why did she feel so disgusted with herself?

Gwen reached Ingleside, but the old house seemed to look at her reproachfully, so she kept walking. Her feet followed the shore road down, down, down, all the way to Four Winds and the harbour mouth. She passed the old Moore homestead, now the summer home of the Fords; she waved a distracted hand at the House of Dreams, whose inhabitants were even now celebrating her third-place finish with ice cream; she went by the Elliot place without evening noticing it.

Finally, at the very edge of the rocky shore, she broke into a run. Not her school run, not the running she had been training to do, but a child's run, trying to outrun her own self. She raced along the shore, dodging pebbles, skipping in and out of the waves, getting her shoes and socks soaked, until she was out of breath and laughing at her own foolishness. She collapsed into a heap right there on the coarse sand, uncaring of the way it would cling to her skirt and give Lynde fits when doing the laundry.

"Well, that looked like fun."

The noise that emitted from Gwen's mouth was a cross between a scream and a gasp. She leapt up and spun around, coming very close to twisting her ankle on the uneven ground.

"Oof!" she grunted, pitching forward. Two strong arms caught her and held her until she steadied.

"Easy, now," Oliver cautioned. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Gwen's blushes could have rivalled the lighthouse beam in strength. Of all the people to see her being childish—and then to practically fall on top of him! Oh, she hoped he didn't think she'd done it on purpose. As bad as it was to be thought of as uncoordinated, it would be even worse to get a reputation like the Drew girls.

"I didn't think anyone—I thought I was all alone," she stammered.

Oliver shrugged and released her arms. Gwen promptly sat back down, not caring how childish it might look. It was better than collapsing because her legs, for some strange reason, wouldn't hold her up.

"I thought you could use some company."

"Did you follow me all the way from the school?" Gwen exclaimed. She knew she had been distracted, but _surely_ she would have noticed someone trailing her all that way.

Oliver shook his head and chuckled. "I mentioned to Phil that I was going to make sure you were all right, and he told me to check the shore."

Phil knew her well, that was certain. "Why would you need to make sure I'm all right?" Gwen asked carefully.

Oliver sat down beside her, apparently not caring that he was dirtying his trousers, and fixed his gaze on the turbulent blue-grey seas. Gwen was grateful to him for not looking directly at her; it made carrying on a conversation with him much easier.

"I saw your face after the race … you didn't look quite so pleased as I thought you would. And then when you turned down ice cream, I _knew_ something had to be wrong. Nobody turns down ice cream."

Gwen laughed. "Maybe I just don't like it?"

Oliver shook his head and slanted a sideways glance at her out of his dark eyes. "Everybody likes ice cream. At least, everybody our age does. Maybe somewhere there's some elderly people who despise it, but I doubt even that."

"My cousin Patty—she's Lee's age—hates ice cream," Gwen informed him, rather enjoying this nonsense they were talking. "She says it's too cold, and too sweet."

Oliver shook his head again. "Clearly, she is the exception that proves the rule. Poor child."

Patty, plump, jolly, fun-loving Patty Blake with the snub nose and pretty blue eyes, could hardly be described as poor. Gwen shook her own head, unable to reconcile the idea.

"So," Oliver said, returning to the matter at hand. "Why aren't you out celebrating with everyone else? Don't tell me you're upset just because you didn't win? That doesn't seem very much like you."

Gwen wanted to ask him what _did_ sound like her, but couldn't quite work up the courage. "I think," she said instead, slowly, having come to an understanding somewhere during her run along the sand, "I think that I disappointed myself because I know I can do better. I was so nervous beforehand, and wanted so desperately to prove myself to everyone, that I froze, just a little. It's not about where I placed, or how everyone else thinks I did. I know I could have done better, run faster, more smoothly, been more focused, and I'm frustrated with myself for not doing so."

"Everyone gets some form of stage fright," Oliver reassured her. "You never do as well at a performance as you do at a practice."

Gwen's chin was in its stubborn set. "I could have done better," she insisted.

Oliver sighed. "You don't make it easy to comfort you, you know."

"Maybe I don't want comfort."

"What, you prefer to wallow in misery?"

Gwen considered this. "No, that doesn't seem like a good idea, either." She shrugged. "I don't know _what_ I want."

"How about a friend, to watch the sunset with?"

That, Gwen decided, sounded perfect. She and Oliver sat in companionable silence as the lowering sun tinted the water every shade of orange and gold and red one could imagine, turning the sea into a fiery basin full of magic and potential.

Gwen felt the tension leave her body and she breathed deep of the briny air. "Thank you," she said without looking at Oliver. "You were right; this was exactly what I needed."

"I'm glad," Oliver said. "I should probably get you back to Ingleside before your grandparents send out bloodhounds after you."

Gwen giggled at the image. "I don't want them to worry," she agreed. Oliver rose, helped her to her feet, and they walked side-by-side back to the road, and civilization.

* * *

"May 30, 1936.

"Dear Mother,

"Do you remember how, a little while ago, I wrote to you that I didn't have a 'crush' or anything like that on Oliver Grant?

"Well—I think I was wrong.

"Oh Mums! I wish you were here to tell me what to do! Fanny and Lynde are nice, but they're just girls my age; they can't tell me about this sort of thing. And I'm far too embarrassed to talk about it with Grandmother or Aunt Faith or Aunt Ruth. I _might_ be willing to talk about it with Aunt Persis, but she's so busy right now trying to get her veterinary clinic opened up in the village.

"Oliver found me after the meet yesterday. He noticed that I wasn't as happy as I ought to be, and sought me out, and then just sat with me down by the shore until I felt better. He walked me back to Ingleside, and stayed for supper, and he didn't say anything unusual or out-of-the-way at all, but he smiled at me when he left, and Mother, I could swear that my heart leapt right into my throat. I honestly couldn't breathe at first!

"And then—I _knew_.

"I'm not in love with him or anything silly like that, so don't worry, Mums. I am only fifteen, after all! But oh, I've never thought about boys as anything but good companions before, and now all these strange feelings are chasing around in my stomach, and I can't seem to focus on anything at all. Here, I'll try to write some of them down, just as they occur to me, so you can see how silly I am being.

"He smiled at me. Does that mean he likes me?

"He smiles at everybody. He's nice to everybody. Why does he have to be so nice?

"I wish I could cook like Lynde. No boy could ever like someone who's as bad in the kitchen as I am.

"He has such nice eyes.

"How am I ever going to be able to get through final examinations next week?

"I never used to like the name Oliver, but now I think it's distinguished sounding.

"There, you see how hopeless I am, Mums? How shall I survive the rest of this year? He and Jack are best of friends, and Jack practically lives at Ingleside during the summer. Then, come autumn, we'll all be back in school, and Fanny is already talking about forming a study group with us and Lynde and Jack and Oliver. How can I possibly be around him so much and not give away the fact that I like him?

"And Mother, strangest of all: when I think about the possibility of him liking me too, part of me is excited, _but I'm mostly scared_. I don't think I want him to think of me as anything beyond Jack's cousin!

"Well—maybe as a friend. That would be acceptable, I suppose.

"Please write and tell me you went through all this when you were fifteen, and how you survived. And then, tell me how you knew Dad was the right one, and how he was different from any other boy you'd ever liked before!

"Oh, by the by, I came in third at the big meet. Coach and Grandfather and everyone else was pleased, but I know I can do better if I just learn to control my nerves. If you have any advice there, I'd be happy to hear that, too!

"Phil and Lee and Jo are all doing well. I'm not neglecting them in my new befuddled state, I promise.

"Love always,

"Your crazy Gwen."

* * *

"June 15, 1936

"Dear Gwen,

"My dearest daughter, how dare you grow up behind my back? When your father and I left—just four months ago!—you were still a child, and now here you are having love-affairs. I haven't dared tell your father about your last letter; he'd likely abandon India and Una and me and take the fastest boat back to Canada to whisk you into a convent until you are thirty. I must confess to wanting to do that myself.

"Part of it, of course, is sheer selfishness on my part. I can't _possibly_ be old enough to have a daughter who is falling in love. Oh no, I know, you said it isn't love, but to my mind, it might as well be. To have you even notice that a boy exists—well, when I received your letter, my mind immediately jumped forward and I saw you with an engagement ring, in a white wedding gown, carrying chubby little babies, and seeing little golden-haired children off to school yourself!

"Mothers, my dear, are a very strange breed.

"I had my first 'love-affair' when I was sixteen. His name was Ethan Montgomery, and he was from England (with the most delicious accent), visiting his aunt who lived in a big house over-harbour. Nan and I both fell madly in love with him, and for an entire summer fought each other over him. Oh, our poor parents! Ingleside had never seen such fury. I was jealous of Nan because she was so much prettier than I was, and smarter. She was jealous of me because I was such a good listener and shared many of Ethan's interests.

"Of course, if we'd had any sense, we would have realized that Ethan wasn't interested in either of us _at all_. We only found out at the end of the summer that he had fallen for Persis Ford the first time he saw her, and only spent time with us so that he could see her. To do him justice, I don't think he had any idea how in love with him we were; if he had, I am still certain that he wouldn't have done anything to encourage us at all.

"Persis didn't care for Ethan one bit, naturally! Even then she preferred the quiet, steady boys (like Shirley, although they didn't fall in love until the War), and thought dashing, handsome Ethan Montgomery a bore. Once she let him know (in no uncertain terms) how she felt, he stopped visiting us in the Glen entirely, and Nan and I both thought our hearts were broken.

"It didn't last long—by the time next summer rolled around Nan and Jerry were courting in their own peculiar way (which mostly involved debating and arguing), and I was spending most of my time with Walter and preparing for Redmond. I had decided, after making such a fool of myself over Ethan, that I was _not_ going to fall in love again until it was the Real Thing. How I was supposed to know the difference between the Real Thing and false love, I wasn't sure, but I was determined, nonetheless.

"Then we were off to Redmond, and there was the War, and somehow in all that I met your father, and at first I didn't even think of love. We were friends, that was all, and we wrote to each other while he was overseas, and when Walter died he comforted me, and when he was injured my heart shattered beyond even how it had broken at losing Walter, and then I _knew_. This was the Real Thing. This was Love, not _love_.

"Jon made me a better person; he listened to me, encouraged me, helped me to grow, and yet never made me feel inadequate. He accepted me just as I was. He was—and still is—the very best person I have ever known. He reminds me of my father, and I can give no higher compliment than that!

"When it is the Real Thing, daughter dear, you won't need me or anyone else to tell you. You'll _know_. If you have to ask, it isn't Love.

"That said, you are going about your first affair far more sensibly than _I_ did. I suppose I ought to feel some pride in that, as perhaps the way you were raised is helping, but really, I think it's your father in you. You are so very much like him!

"If you feel yourself starting to get foolish around Oliver, just ask yourself which is more important to you right now—this April love, or his friendship. If you care more for his friendship, you'll be able to act (at least somewhat) sensibly around him.

"Above all, remember that you are a wonderful, special young woman, and don't ever settle for anything less than the Real Thing!

"I love you very, _very_ much, my Gwen, and I'm pleased beyond what I can tell that you trust your old mother with your affairs of the heart.

"Always yours,

"Mother."

* * *

Gwen folded up the letter and kissed it. She felt much, much better now, after reading Mother's comforting words (and more than a little tickled at the glimpse she'd been given into life at Ingleside when her mother and aunts and uncles were her age).

"If I ever do fall in Love, and get married, and have a daughter," she said aloud. "I'm going to name her Diana Joyce, and I'm going to call her _Joy_."

"And when I get married," Jo answered, wandering into her bedroom unexpectedly, "and have a daughter, I'm going to name her Diana Rose, after her grandmother and mother, and I'll call her Diana."

"Oh, Jo!" Gwen cried. "You are far too young to be thinking about marriage and children!"

"You're thinking about it," Jo said, "and you're only four years older than I am. At least I know who I'm going to marry!"

And that, Gwen had to admit, was something she did _not_ know.


	11. Chapter 11

With the end of school came a flood of Blythe clan to the Glen and its environs. Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken, with Isaac and Isaiah and Chloe, took up residence in the old Moore home. Uncle Carl and Aunt Betty (who had been one of the Glen Meads before marrying Uncle Carl) came to their summer house, bringing their three youngsters with them: Tommy, Lizzie, and little Celia. Aunt Nan and Uncle Jerry couldn't stay, but they were up for a weekend, and when they went home Gil and Rosie stayed with Uncle Jem and Aunt Faith.

"Lots of cousins," Owen said in satisfaction. Then he made a face. "Isaac and Isaiah already tried to lock me in the old barn back on their property."

"How did you escape?" Jack asked curiously.

"Jo followed us and let me out as soon as they left."

Jo smiled calmly. "I knew they were up to no good. I could tell by the way they were snickering."

Jack laughed and reached out to slap Jo on the back companionably. "It is going to be _good_ to have you Blake kids around all summer this year. We need you."

They—Jo, Owen, Lee and Leigh, Jack, and Gwen—were gathered in Rainbow Valley, awaiting the rest of the cousins so they could make their plans for the day. Phil had abandoned them to help Uncle Carl sort some specimens, and none of the rest had shown yet.

"Probably all sleeping in, the lazies," Owen said with a righteous sniff.

"It _is_ summer, Owen," his sister said peaceably.

"So? We were up at dawn this morning."

"Only because old Mr. MacAllister was bellowing for Mother outside the house, convinced that his prize milk cow was dying and only she could save it."

The rest giggled.

"Was she dying?" Gwen asked.

Owen rolled his eyes. "No. Mother came back in time for breakfast, telling us that the damn' cow—"

"Owen!" his sister said in scandalized tones.

"That's what Mother _said_," Owen protested.

"Yes, but you needn't repeat it!"

"How else can I tell the story the right way?"

"I like to know all the details," Jo interjected.

"See?" Owen said.

Jack and Gwen were having a difficult time holding in their laughter, while poor Lee turned almost as red as her hair. To think of Aunt Persis using such a naughty word! And at the breakfast table, no less!

"Leigh, you tell us the rest of the story, if you can't trust Owen," Jack managed, in a stifled voice.

"She said that the _cow_," Leigh said in prim tones, "had only been gorging on grain, and had an internal obstruction. She cleaned it out, issued some calcium tablets, and warned Mr. MacAllister to make sure the cow was not kept in the bard near the grain bins anymore!"

Gwen shook her head. "I may not know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know for certain that I do not want Aunt Persis's job!"

Chloe and the twins had entered Rainbow Valley in time to hear that last sentence, though none of the preceding tale. Chloe sniffed.

"Aunt Persis is one of the most respected veterinarians on the Island. You needn't sneer at her profession, Gwen."

"I wasn't sneering," Gwen said, surprised. "I think she's amazing. I just wouldn't have the fortitude to do what she does."

Chloe sniffed again. "I suppose _you_ wouldn't." The twins giggled, and Gwen felt vaguely insulted.

It was generally accepted that Chloe Ford was the prettiest girl in the clan, with a small but vocal minority (Jo) in favour of Rosie Meredith. She was only eleven, but already her dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and creamy skin, as well the famous dent in her upper lip she had inherited from her mother, had wreaked havoc with many a Glen and Toronto lad.

Thirteen-year-old Isaac and Isaiah, the lone twins of their generation, continued with Ingleside tradition by not looking anything alike. Isaac, the elder by ten minutes ("The longest ten minutes of my life," his mother was wont to say dramatically), had the Shirley red hair and Blythe hazel eyes, with the stubbornness and temper of his grandmother. Isaiah took after the Fords, being almost an exact picture of his father at his age with his dark hair and eyes and rakish smile. He hadn't inherited Uncle Ken's good humour, though; Isaiah was a rather bitter, angry boy (though Gwen had never heard exactly at _what_ he was so angry all the time).

Both the twins, as Owen had said about them, had an un-Blythe-like fondness for playing nasty tricks on people. Grandfather may have been a tease in his youth, but he had never done anything that would _hurt_ somebody.

Gwen didn't—exactly—like her Ford cousins. She loved them, naturally, as cousins, but she couldn't like them. She wanted to, but she was always haunted by her own sense of inferiority to Chloe, and the suspicion that none of them really liked her or her siblings.

"I wouldn't want to be a veterinarian, either," Jack said cheerfully, breaking the tension as he so often did.

"We all know you're going to be an English professor, Jack," Leigh said, smiling at him fondly.

"And a poet," Owen chimed. "I'm going to be a fisherman, like Father. What are you going to be when you grow up, Jo?"

"An adventurer," Jo said. Chloe and Isaac giggled, but he remained unruffled. "I'm going to explore and discover things nobody else has ever seen or imagined."

"That's silly," Chloe said dismissively.

"I think it's grand," Jack said while Gwen was still opening her mouth to come to Jo's defence. "What are _you_ going to be, Chloe?"

"A movie star, of course!" Chloe said, tossing her head. "And I'm going to have _hundreds_ of love affairs, before finally settling down to marry."

Gwen personally thought that was even more ridiculous than Jo's dream, but she held her tongue by an extreme effort of will.

"Leigh, what about you?"

The brown girl shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know yet. Sometimes I think I'd like to be an artist, but I don't know if it's something I could make a living at. I suppose time will tell."

Gil and Rosie joined the group just then, with Tommy and Lizzie Meredith tagging along behind.

"What did we miss?" Tommy gasped out.

"We've been discussing what we want to be when we grow up," Jack told him. "What are you going to be, Tommy my lad?"

"Something that lets me read all the time," Tommy said immediately. At age ten, he was rarely seen without a book in hand, and indeed, had one with him now, Gwen noticed.

"I'm going to be a mummy, like my Mummy," sweet little nine-year-old Lizzie piped.

"So am I," Lee said. She smiled fondly at her little cousin.

"So's Rosie," Jo said. "Except she'll also be an adventuress, and come along with me on my explorations."

Rosie just smiled tolerantly at him. She was well aware of his determination to marry her, and was both amused and pleased by it. "You see, Mother," she had explained to Aunt Nan once, "At least this way I know I'll never be an old maid. I don't _think_ I want to marry Jo, but he'll be better than nobody."

"I'm going to be a farmer, just like Father," Gil said proudly.

"Good for you," Jack said with quiet approval.

"I'm going to be a rich man," Isaac said.

"How will you get rich?" Jo asked him curiously.

"Oil, or something like that," Isaac said vaguely.

"Isaiah, how about you?" Gwen asked, not wanting him to feel left out.

He scowled at her. "None of your business," he growled.

Chloe glared at Gwen. "Isaiah _doesn't like_ people prying into his life," she said haughtily. "I notice _you_ haven't said what you're going to be."

"I already said, I don't know," Gwen said equably.

"Maybe a runner?" Jack asked affectionately.

Gwen grinned at him. "We'll see."

"Of course you wouldn't know," Chloe said dismissively. "You Blakes don't have ambition. Not like the Blythes do."

"You're Fords," Jo pointed out.

"It doesn't matter what your last name is," Chloe said.

"Then we're Blythes, too," Gwen said. "Our mum was a Blythe, just like yours."

"Yes, but we're _real_ Blythes. You—you are all Blake, through and through."

Gwen was stung, and Lee's great grey eyes filled with hurt, but Jo tossed his head like a proud thoroughbred colt.

"Good!" he cried.

"Well, I think this foolishness has gone on long enough," Jack said, once again diffusing the situation. "What shall we do today, kids?"

Chloe immediately began to lay out her plans, and as usual, they all fell in line with her dictates.

People might not have always liked Chloe Ford, but they usually ended by doing what she wanted!

* * *

That evening, Gwen sat at her little desk, propped her chin thoughtfully on her hand, and stared out at the velvety night sky. What was wrong with being both Blythe _and_ Blake? She adored her Blythe relatives—Grandmother and Grandfather were darlings—but she firmly believed that there was nobody, _nobody_, like her cousin Jeremy Blake. Uncle Jeremiah was a little intimidating at times, but Grandmother and Grandfather Blake were just as darling in their own way as her Blythe grandparents.

She tore her gaze away from the white stars dotting the blue-black night, and turned it onto the pictures above her desk. On the right was the Girl with a Pearl Earring. On the left was the picture Grandmother Blake had sent: a family portrait taken last year. Grandmother and Grandfather were in the middle, with Dad and Mother on one side, and Uncle Jeremiah and Aunt Jenny on the other. The grandchildren were all scattered in the front, Jeremy's arm around a laughing Gwen. Gwen smiled every time she looked at it.

Blakes were _just_ as good as Blythes, she told herself.

She heard a timid knock, and then Lee crept in, her eyes puffy.

"What's wrong, dearest?" Gwen asked patiently, getting up from her desk chair and hugging the younger girl.

Lee sniffed. "Leigh and I were saying goodnight at the gate … like we always do … and I told her 'good night, best beloved,' just like I always do, and then out of nowhere Isaac and Isaiah started laughing and making fun of me. I didn't even know they were there!"

Indignation swelled in Gwen's heart. Perhaps Lee was a bit dramatic—what of it? Most of the _Blythes_ were! (Blakes were far more practical, like Phil.) The twins had no right to tease her for it!

"Never mind, Lee-love," she said steadily, petting Lee's ruddy hair. "They just did it to be mean. Just you ignore them."

"But why are they so cruel?" Lee sniffed, nestling her head onto Gwen's shoulder.

"I don't know," Gwen said. "Some people just are."

There was another knock at Gwen's open door, this one Lynde's distinctive firm tap. She entered and sat down on Aunt Nan's bed.

"Those Fords think they're a cut above everyone else, even the rest of you Blythes," she said with a disdainful look. "Or at least, that's how they act. _I_ think that they are cruel to people because they're trying to convince _themselves_ that they're better."

"But you're not better than other people by being mean to them," Lee said, pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes. "I mean, look at the King of England. He's _more_ polite to people beneath him."

"Chloe probably thinks she's better than even the King," Gwen couldn't help saying, and both Lynde and Lee giggled a little over it.

"And Jack's nice to everyone," Lee continued. "Even the over-harbour people. And look at Grandfather Blake! He went and preached in the slums …"

"We understand your point, dear," Gwen said hastily, before Lee could think of any more examples. "And you're absolutely right."

"Unfortunately," Lynde said grimly, "Nobody's ever bothered to explain that to the Ford youngsters." She stood up. "Well, all I can say is, they'd better not try any of their airs and tricks in _my_ kitchen this summer, not if they know what is good for them!"

Gwen caught Lee's eye and knew that both sisters were thinking the same thing: they would almost love to see the Fords try, just to see what Lynde would do.

"In the meantime," Lynde continued, speaking directly to Lee. "You do as your sister suggests. Just ignore them, and when they see that they can't bother you anymore, why, they'll give up."

"But how can I ignore them when they are so hurtful?" Lee protested.

"Pretend that it doesn't bother you," Gwen said, thinking of some advice Coach Elliot had given her right before school ended, on not getting unnerved during a meet, "and eventually you'll find that it hurts less."

"I'll try," Lee said doubtfully. "But—can I sleep in here tonight?"

"May I," Gwen and Lynde chimed in unison. "And yes," Gwen added, "you may."

Lee smiled luminously in relief. "Thank you."

Gwen kissed the top of her head. Giving up a bed was a small price to pay to see that smile on her sister's face again. With a sinking heart, she wondered how much harder she was going to have to work this summer to keep Lee from being hurt by the Fords—again.


	12. Chapter 12

Jack poked his head in Ingleside's dining room. "Gwen, Phil," he said. "Want to go fishing?"

Phil shook his head. "I can't. I'm off to Uncle Carl's as soon as we're done with breakfast." He looked up at the big clock. "In fact, I should be going now." He dropped his napkin next to his plate, kissed Grandmother's cheek, and was gone.

Jack shook his head. "A budding scientist. Well, Gwen?"

Gwen nodded, beaming. She hadn't been fishing yet at all that summer.

"Me too," Jo started to insist.

"Sorry, chum," Jack said sympathetically. "Older kids only this trip. Tell you what, though, tomorrow I'll take you fishing all by yourself, just you and me. OK?"

"OK," Jo said, grinning over the slang and the excitement of a fishing excursion with just Jack.

Jack turned back to Gwen. "Well, come on, then!"

Gwen jumped up. "Let me just get my gear and change my clothes!"

She had been wearing her pretty new skirt that Lynde had helped her make (Grandmother insisted on donating the fabric, a darling green background with tiny pink flowers scattered across it) and a crisp white pin-tucked blouse, in hopes—she had to admit it—that maybe Oliver would stop by sometime.

She couldn't wear that fishing, though, so she donned her comfortable old trousers and short-sleeved button-down shirt that had belonged to her mother, once upon a time. Then she grabbed her rod and creel and ran headlong down the stairs, calling, "I'm ready," as she went.

Of course, at the bottom she tripped, and stumbled wildly across the parlour floor, dropping her gear with a crash. She was only saved from falling by a pair of strong, slightly familiar arms. She looked up into the smiling face of Oliver Grant and wished that she could just drop dead, right there.

"Easy there, Gwen," Jack laughed. "The fish aren't going anywhere."

Gwen pulled herself away from Oliver and tried to speak with dignity. "You said you were in a hurry."

"Not so much that I want you to break your leg," Jack said. "You don't mind if Oliver comes along, do you?"

"No," Gwen muttered, blushing furiously and hating herself for it.

"Not that I'll be any good," Oliver said easily. "Mostly I'm going to sit back and make admiring noises as you two reel them in."

Suddenly Gwen felt like she could breathe again. Listening to Jack and Oliver joke made her feel like she was back in Kingsport, going fishing with Jeremy and Phil. This wouldn't be so bad.

The trio was headed out past Rainbow Valley when they met Chloe and the twins, on their way up from Four Winds.

"Oliver!" Chloe shrilled. She flung herself into his arms. "I'm so glad to see you! We haven't seen you at all yet this summer."

Gwen sternly told herself that it was _ridiculous_ to be jealous of her eleven-year-old cousin.

"How long have you been here?" Oliver asked.

"Two days," Isaac told him.

Oliver grinned. "That's not very long, Chloe."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're the only person in this village worth talking to outside my family—and even sometimes within it," with a pointed look in Gwen's direction. "Even being here for two days without seeing you is too long! Won't you come down to Rainbow Valley with us?"

"Sorry," Oliver said cheerfully. He shook his creel. "I've already agreed to go fishing with Jack and Gwen."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Then I'll come fishing too," she decided promptly.

"You don't fish," Jack said.

"I'll _watch_," she said with dignity. She looped her arm through Oliver's and led the way to the pond, chattering away brightly.

Gwen watched helplessly. Chloe looked more beautiful than ever in a shining yellow dress, with white ankle socks and black mary janes, her lustrous brown hair held back from her perfect face with a white Alice band.

Jack nudged her with his elbow. "We fishing?"

Gwen ground her teeth together. She was _going_ to fish, and she was _going_ to have a good time. She didn't care that Chloe had neatly, and with skills far above most eleven-year-olds, separated Oliver from them. She had wanted to go fishing when she thought it was just Jack, and she still wanted to fish with him.

She forced a grin onto her face. "Yes. We're fishing."

They followed in Chloe and Oliver's trail, with Isaac and Isaiah continuing toward Rainbow Valley, no doubt plotting mischief.

* * *

The fishing wasn't so bad. Gwen did manage to land the same amount as Jack, while Chloe monopolized Oliver so much he didn't even catch one. He took it all with his usual good grace, and Jack and Gwen managed to have a good time building up a mock competition between them as to who was going to catch more. When they finally called it a day, and discovered they had caught the exact same amount, their mirth bubbled over.

"Co-champions!" Jack cried, catching Gwen's arm and pulling it over her head. "This deserves a trophy of some sort."

"At least a medal," Gwen agreed with a laugh.

"I'll send a notice to the paper," Oliver promised.

Chloe looked bored.

"Well, I think we've at least provided lunch for the gang down in Rainbow Valley, don't you?" Jack said.

"Sounds good," Gwen said.

"Oliver, since you didn't catch any, you get to carry them all," Jack informed his friend.

Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Ew!" she squealed. "They smell, and they're slimy!"

"Well, nobody's asking you to carry them," Jack told her reasonably. "and I don't notice you complaining about eating them after we fry them up."

Chloe glared at him and stomped off toward Rainbow Valley. She turned after just a few steps and planted her hands on her hips. "Well?" she demanded. "Aren't you all _coming_?"

Jack rolled his eyes at Oliver. "We're coming," he said.

"You all go on ahead," Gwen said. "I'm going to go fetch Phil from Uncle Carl's and tell him we're having fried trout in Rainbow Valley. Even _he_ will tear himself away from science for that!"

"I'll come with you," Oliver said promptly. "Dr. Meredith has a book he promised to lend me."

"You're doing studying now, in the summer?" Jack asked with a raised eyebrow.

Oliver shrugged, then handed the string of fish to Jack. "Sorry, mate," he said. "Guess you're elected to carry the fish back, after all."

Jack grinned roguishly. "No worries. I'll just get Chloe to help me."

They all paused to watch her suddenly scamper as fast as her legs could take her down the road. Laughing, Oliver and Gwen took their leave of Jack and walked companionably to the Meredith residence, right in the heart of the village.

"I didn't know you and Chloe were such good friends," Gwen said tentatively after a bit.

Oliver shrugged. "You know how kids get. Our mother have always been great friends, and so Chloe somehow thinks that we all have to be best friends, too—my brother and sister and me, and her and the twins." He laughed sheepishly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, she's a good kid and all … but we're not, you know …"

"Best buddies?" Gwen suggested. She was ashamed of how petty it was—but she felt immensely relieved.

"Yeah," Oliver agreed. "I mean, everyone knows that Jack's my best mate."

Gwen didn't mind that, oddly enough. Jack and Oliver had been friends for far longer than she had been around the Glen. In fact, she didn't like the idea at all of usurping Jack's position as Oliver's best friend.

Apparently, it was just Chloe she minded.

Thinking it over, though, she decided it wasn't that she so much minded the thought of Chloe being friends with Oliver, even better friends than she herself was. It was Chloe's air of possessiveness, and her ability to make Gwen feel about two inches tall every time she was around, that was the problem.

And that, really, had very little to do with her crush on Oliver at all!

* * *

After lunch, and a rousing game of baseball (Gwen missed every single ball that flew at her when she was in the outfield, but her team still won, thanks in part to her fast running), the cousins and friends dispersed into smaller groups. Gwen was thinking about casually drifting back to Ingleside and changing back into her nice outfit, when Chloe cornered her.

"Oliver is _my_ friend," the younger girl began without preamble. Her arms were folded across her chest and one foot was tapping on the green grass.

Gwen blinked. "Excuse me?"

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Don't think that you can steal Oliver from me. He's _my_ friend."

"Can't he be my friend as well?" Gwen asked, thinking this was ridiculous.

"When I grow up," Chloe answered instead, "And I'm a movie star, I'm going to have rich, famous, and handsome actors all begging me to marry them, but I'll refuse them all, even though I won't know why. And then, when my career is winding down, and I'm old and wearied of the glamour of the cinema, I'll find myself travelling back here, to dear old PEI, and there I'll find Oliver, who had been patiently waiting for me through all the years. And we'll marry and live happily ever after," she ended abruptly.

Gwen bit her lip, and then she couldn't hold it in any longer. She knew it was unkind to laugh—for all Chloe's dramatics, she obviously believed her own dream wholly—and also unwise, but she honestly could not help it. She laughed.

The dreamy expression on Chloe's face turned to one of pure hate. "Just you wait," she hissed. "You'll be sorry. I'll make you wish you'd never come to the Glen, and never met Oliver. By the time I'm finished, nobody will like you at all!"

She spun on her heel and stormed off, leaving Gwen slightly ashamed, and more than a little worried.

Then she shrugged her shoulders. Really, what could Chloe do to her? She wasn't like Lee—the twins couldn't make her cry by laughing at her. And Chloe was only a little kid, younger even than Jo.

How much damage could she really do?


	13. Chapter 13

When Gwen and Lee showed up in Ingleside's kitchen for their weekly cooking lesson, they were surprised (and slightly dismayed) to see Chloe there as well. She was wearing a spotless ruffled yellow apron, her hair as usual held back with a matching Alice band, a smug expression on her face.

"I came by to see Grandmother this morning," she said in a sugary voice, "and when I heard that Lynde was _so kindly_ trying to teach you girls how to cook and sew, I _knew_ I had to help. Mother has taught me _everything_ there is to know about domestic matters. She says that a _truly_ accomplished woman knows how to run a household _and_ do other things as well. She didn't want me to grow up an _ignormus_."

"Ignoramus," Grandmother corrected, coming in just then, a little smile quirking around the corners of her mouth. "And I'm glad your mother is seeing to your training, Chloe. Goodness, I remember the time Susan Baker and I had trying to interest her in anything domestic! It wasn't until the War that she really started to settle down and make an effort. I suppose she wants to see that you don't have the same flightiness she did."

Chloe tossed her head, but even she didn't dare sass back Grandmother. And to Gwen's relief, Grandmother put on her _own_ apron (which was not ruffled, though nowhere near so stained as Gwen and Lee's), and sat down right at the kitchen table to join in the lesson. Chloe wasn't able to be quite so superior or sneering with Grandmother there.

Lynde completely ignored Chloe, and proceeded with the lesson as if it was an ordinary day. Lee was soon able to forget her cousin as well, and as she had some natural knack for cooking, she did quite well. Poor Gwen, though, was so flustered by Chloe's implied slur against Mother's training, and so disconcerted that her younger cousin could do things in the kitchen she, Gwen, couldn't even dream of doing, that she was even more clumsy and distracted than usual.

Even Grandmother's presence couldn't keep Chloe from shrieking with laughter at Gwen's spectacular failure when the cake she was _trying_ to make for Grandfather came out of the oven completely flat. Lee's simpler baking-powder biscuits were a success, thankfully, and Gwen was able to come out of her misery enough to be thankful that if _one_ of the sisters had to make a fool of herself, it wasn't sweet, sensitive Lee.

"I have an idea," Grandmother said brightly, after she mourned with Gwen over the cake's failure, and consoled her with the old story of the cake she had flavoured with anodyne liniment. "Owen and Jo came to tell me yesterday that the strawberries in the fields past the village are ripe. How would it be if Gwen went to pick berries, and Chloe stayed here and made a big bowl of whipped cream, and then we can serve strawberry shortcake to your grandfather, and tell him three of his granddaughters made it for him."

The girls looked dubiously at each other, but none of them wanted to admit to Grandmother that they would much rather _not_ collaborate. Gwen remembered in time that she was the eldest of the trio, and could be reasonably expected to be the most mature.

"I'd be happy to go pick strawberries, Grandmother," she said brightly. "And I'm sure Chloe can make the most delicious whipped cream!"

"Well," Chloe said reluctantly, "as long as Gwen is _extra careful_ with the berries …"

"That's settled then," Lynde said. "I'll stay here to supervise you, Chloe."

Behind Grandmother's back, Chloe crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Lynde, who frowned so majestically that even Rilla Ford's proud daughter shrank back.

"I'll go find you a basket, Gwen," Lynde said, turning her own back on the abashed Chloe.

Gwen bit back a giggle. "Thank you, Lynde."

The two friends shared a secret smile.

* * *

The sun was rising higher as Gwen walked to the strawberry fields a little later. She was wearing a straw hat to protect her fair skin, but even so she guessed she was probably going to get a sunburn. She mentally shrugged her shoulders over it—she got burned every summer at least once, usually more, and she had learned to live with the discomfort.

She was a little surprised, as she went through the Glen, that none of her school acquaintances returned her waved greeting. Even Jean Drew, her teammate, turned her head and acted as though she hadn't seen Gwen.

Some of the Glen boys, however, especially the ones she didn't know at all, were acting _oddly_ familiar. Several winked and grinned—leered, really—at her, and one or two even called out words that Gwen didn't understand.

She was confused, and a little hurt by her friends' behaviour. Was it her hat? She knew it wasn't very becoming, but that was no reason for the girls to act as though they were suddenly too good for her. Besides, that wouldn't explain the … the _flirting_ that the boys were doing.

Gwen suddenly felt very nervous, and she rushed the rest of the way through the village, gasping in unexplained relief when she reached the strawberry fields. The Elliot youngsters were also there picking, but aside from them, it was barren. Gwen waved at them, and was filled with gratitude when they waved back just as they always did.

Whatever was going on, they weren't a part of it, at least.

The berries were thick and red, and it didn't take Gwen's nimble fingers long to fill her basket. As she straightened for one final time and stretched the aches out of her back, Lucy and Van made their way over to say hello.

"Hot day for berrying, isn't it?" Van said by way of greeting.

"Scorching," Gwen agreed. "But these are for Grandfather, so I don't mind."

"We're picking for Mother," Lucy said. "The store is so busy these days that she's been helping Father constantly, and hasn't had any time to do anything else. I'm going to make some jam," she finished proudly.

Van grinned at his sister. "Lu makes the best jam on the Island."

Lucy blushed. "Not as good as Lynde's," she confessed.

Gwen sighed. "Even with Lynde's teaching, I don't think I would ever dare try making jam. Knowing me, I'd likely explode the jars all over the kitchen!"

Lucy giggled. "That happened to Mother last year! And she said—"

"Lucy!" Van warned. "Mother said she's tan our hides if we ever told anyone what she said then."

"Oh, that's right," Lucy said, looking guilty.

Gwen could well imagine what the outspoken and volatile Mrs. Douglas had said. Probably something along the lines of what Aunt Persis had said about Mr. MacAllister's cow!

Many of the Glen matrons disapproved of Mary Douglas, but Gwen rather liked her pungency. She was honest and fearless, and one always knew exactly where one stood with her. "People may not always like Mary," Mother had said once, "But we wouldn't know what to do without her!"

So Gwen was doubly hurt and shocked when, as she walked back through the Glen with Lucy and Van, Mrs. Douglas came boiling out of the store and grabbed her children by their arms, hustling them away.

"Don't you two have anything to do with that one!" she cried, stopping several people in their tracks and causing Gwen's mouth to drop open.

"Do you mean … me, Mrs. Douglas?" she asked in honest confusion.

Mrs. Douglas's pale eyes blazed. "Don't play the injured innocent to me, you young hussy," she snapped. "And don't you go corrupting my daughter or seducing my son, either!"

Gwen reeled back a pace, feeling as though Mrs. Douglas had dealt her a physical blow. Red flooded her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oliver Grant stop dead on the street as Mrs. Douglas's words echoed around the silent square.

"What?" she gasped.

"Mother!" Lucy said in horror. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not deaf," Mrs. Douglas said. "I've heard what people are saying about this young miss. And all I can say is, it's a shame the daughter of Di Blythe ever came to such a pass. Nan's daughter, now … that I could have believed, but I would have thought Di would have raised her child better!"

Now Gwen was angry as well as hurt. Her ears started buzzing, and she wasn't sure what she might have done if Aunt Persis hadn't come out of the store, her overalls spattered with mud and manure, barn boots rising almost to her knees, her glorious eyes flashing with indignation.

"I'll thank you, Mary Vance Douglas, not to say such things about _my_ family," she said, her voice just as loud as Mrs. Douglas's.

Mrs. Douglas wheeled on her. "You can't expect to hide the truth, Persis Ford Blythe!"

Aunt Persis stepped forward menacingly. "And what truth would that be, _Mrs_. Douglas?"

"That your niece has no more morals than a barn cat, that's what, Mrs. Blythe! Carrying on with the Kingsport boys, no better than she should be!"

Gwen wanted to protest that it wasn't true, but just then she saw Oliver turn and walk away with his shoulders slumped, and her heart dropped right to her toes.

How on earth had such a rumour gotten started? And how could everyone swallow it, so that even her friends and teammates believed it, even Oliver? Who would say such things about her?

Chloe's words unexpectedly rang through her ears again: _"Just you wait. You'll be sorry. I'll make you wish you'd never come to the Glen, and never met Oliver. By the time I'm finished, nobody will like you at all!"_

And then Gwen knew just how her cousin planned to make that happen. No wonder Oliver believed it—if Chloe had told him that Gwen was bad, well, he'd known Gwen for much less time than he'd known Chloe. Why wouldn't he believe Chloe over her?

That fact still stung, though. A part of her _hoped_ that Oliver would trust her enough to not believe something so horrible, no matter what Chloe said.

Meanwhile, Aunt Persis and Mrs. Douglas were continuing their battle. "I'll box your ears if you ever say something like that again!" Aunt Persis hissed.

"That won't change the facts," Mrs. Douglas said.

"Facts? What facts? All I've heard is a pile of lies and rumour!"

"No smoke without fire," Mrs. Douglas said. "Rumours wouldn't spread without something behind them."

"I'll tell you what's behind these rumours," Aunt Persis said, her disgusted glare sweeping across everyone who was standing there listening. "A bunch of gossip-mongers with filthy minds. You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves, saying and thinking such things about an innocent young girl." Mrs. Douglas opened her mouth, but Aunt Persis swept on magnificently. "If you, Mary Douglas, or any of you, ever want me to treat any of your animals again, you'll hold your tongues about my Gwen!"

She brushed past Mrs. Douglas as though that woman wasn't even there and put her arm around Gwen's shoulders.

"Come on, honey," she said in a voice that was still perfectly audible. "Don't pay any attention to these old cats. Your family believes in you."

Her _family_ had started these stories, Gwen wanted to say, but she was too shaken to do anything but let Aunt Persis lead her away.

* * *

Aunt Persis soon saw that Gwen was in no shape to walk all the way to the House of Dreams, and she suspected that Ingleside might be too full of people for the lass, so she took her to the Meredith house. Aunt Ruth, when outraged, looked like a furious bantam rooster.

"That Mary Douglas may think she runs this village, but she'll soon be singing a different tune when she's sick and wants Bruce or Jem to treat her!" she sputtered.

"Oh please," Gwen begged, "Please don't turn this into any kind of feud. It's not as though Mrs. Douglas started these stories, and it's not her fault that she believes them. Nobody here really knows anything about me."

"They know you're a Blythe," Aunt Persis said. "That ought to be enough."

"I am so _sick_ of people going on about my name!" Gwen cried impatiently. "It doesn't matter if my name of Blythe or Blake or Ford or Meredith or … _Smith_! What matters is _me_."

Aunt Persis looked taken aback by such an outburst from their usually agreeable Gwen, but Aunt Ruth patted her arm approvingly.

"Well said, Gwen. You're absolutely right, of course. And anyone who knows you at all ought to know that you would never behave in such a manner."

"And please," Gwen said, surging ahead. "Don't say anything or treat anyone any differently because of this. If you all start responding to the stories, people will think there's something in them and you're just trying to protect me. Please, can't we all just ignore it?"

Aunt Persis bristled. "What? And let whomever started these rumours get away with it?"

"Gwen is right, Persis," Aunt Ruth said. "If we act calm and dignified, as though such a tale is too ludicrous to even dignify with a defence, it will do far more to countering the tale than if we burst into a passionate denial." She smiled. "I do wish I had seen you blasting Mary into oblivion, though!"

Aunt Persis laughed a little guiltily. "I'm too outspoken, I know, Shirley tells me that all the time, but ooh, that woman gets under my skin! Well Gwen, it goes against every fibre of my being not to rip people to shreds for maligning you, but I suppose you and Ruth are right. Ignore something like this, and it ought to die away. No smoke without fire, Mary Douglas says. No fire lasts without fresh fuel, _I_ say."

"How would such a rumour even get started about you, Gwen?" Aunt Ruth said. "Anybody who knows you even a little knows how ridiculous it is. Who would say something like that?"

"Some boy you rejected, maybe, trying to get revenge?" Aunt Persis suggested. "A jealous schoolmate, maybe that MacAllister girl who used to be the athletic star of the school until you came along with your running?"

Gwen shook her head. Honesty kept her from fibbing to her aunts, but she couldn't quite bring herself to tattle on Chloe. Besides, she didn't _know_ for certain it was her cousin who had started them. She just knew it _had_ to be her. She wondered just what exactly Chloe had said to Oliver, and to others.

"Nothing like that," she said. "I think I know who it was, and why, but I can't say anything."

"Don't protect this person, child!" Aunt Persis exclaimed. "Tell the truth and shame the devil, as they used to say."

Aunt Ruth was watching Gwen's face. "No, Persis," she said gently. "Let Gwen keep her own counsel. She's a young woman, she knows her own mind. It's her choice."

Aunt Persis sighed, but yielded. "At least let me go call Mary Douglas a few more choice names," she begged.

Even in the midst of her shame and misery, Gwen couldn't keep a tiny smile from her face at that. "Sorry, Auntie." She stood up from the kitchen chair Aunt Ruth had put underneath her. "I need to get these strawberries back to Ingleside."

"Are you sure? I could take them for you, if you wanted to stay here for a bit," Aunt Persis offered.

Aunt Ruth nodded. "Winnie and Ruthie and I would be more than happy to have you."

And let Chloe know she'd succeeded? Gwen would rather stand in the street and let Mrs. Douglas say horrible things to her and about her again!

"No, thank you," she said primly. "I think it's best if we all pretend this never happened. I'm going to go back to Ingleside and not say a word to anyone there about anything."

Aunt Ruth and Aunt Persis walked her to the door and watched her head down the hill, the basket carried easily over her arm, her head high and proud, her stride confident.

"I don't know if I could have handled something like this with that kind of aplomb at her age," Aunt Persis said admiringly. "Gracious, I'm not handling it well now!"

"She is a fine young woman," Aunt Ruth agreed. Her pleasant, plump face turned grim. "And if I ever find out who started these rumours, I'll make that person sorry he or she was ever born."

"And I will join you," Aunt Persis said decisively.


	14. Chapter 14

The next few days were not pleasant for Gwen. Due to either Aunt Persis' threats, or people's respect for Grandmother and Grandfather, she didn't hear any more open slurs or condemnation. That didn't stop mothers from hustling their children out of her way if she walked downtown (as though she had the plague!), or her former friends from turning on her. Even Fanny stopped dropping by Ingleside or inviting Gwen to her house!

Gwen had never suffered from an over-abundance of pride, but her friends' abandonment still stung. Couldn't just _one_ person believe in her?

She couldn't even write about it all to Mother. The very thought of putting it down on paper, seeing those ugly words in black and white, made her shiver. Nor did she want to talk about it with Phil. He was her brother, and he would want to protect her, but there wasn't anything he could do, and he would just end up more distressed in the end.

So Gwen suffered in silence, and if there were times that her sore heart filled to overflowing and she had to run down to the shore to cry a little, well, the rest of the time she carried a smile and a laugh on her lips. Day after day, she told herself it _didn't matter_. Even if everyone in the Glen believed horrible things about her, she knew the truth, and those she loved knew it as well.

Besides, she would be going back to Kingsport in the winter, and then she needn't ever worry about these people again.

That didn't stop her heart from twisting every time she saw Fanny scurry around to try to hide from her in the village, or when Mrs. Douglas refused to let her enter the store one day when Van was working, or when she saw Chloe and Oliver walking and talking together.

It was almost painful to be at Ingleside after a while, where nobody knew about her troubles, and where Chloe and the twins were wont to drop by and smirk at her. Aunt Persis was so busy with her veterinary duties that she was rarely around, and so Gwen started spending more and more time with Aunt Ruth.

The sewing and cooking lessons with Lynde had dwindled away after the cousins had arrived; it just wasn't any fun anymore with Chloe always hanging about, waiting to make fun of them. Chloe never visited Aunt Ruth, though, and so before long Gwen found herself working side-by-side with her youthful aunt, learning how to make chocolate cake that even Lynde couldn't find fault with, and sewing herself a very pretty skirt out of some purple gingham Aunt Ruth had laying around.

Under Aunt Ruth's gentle tutorship, Gwen found herself actually enjoying the domestic work. Lynde had been quick and slightly impatient, given to taking over and finishing a task herself if she didn't think Gwen was doing it correctly. Aunt Ruth was merry and kind, and sympathized and laughed with Gwen over her mistakes, usually following it with a tale of something dreadful she had done once.

Emphatic Uncle Bruce was rarely there, but when he was he proved to be surprisingly kind under his fierce eyebrows. He also never made fun of Gwen's mistakes, but encouraged her to keep trying.

Gwen especially loved watching Uncle Bruce with the twins. He was so large and loud, but he let his two little girls crawl all over him, treating them with the utmost gentleness. It was the same gentleness he showed his patients—those who were truly ill. The ones who only thought they were were given a quick scowl and a gruff "You're fine, be off with you!" Uncle Jem had tried to train him to give everyone the same consideration, but eventually gave up. Uncle Bruce refused to coddle people with imaginary ailments.

It was, perhaps, one reason why Uncle Jem was the more popular doctor of the two.

* * *

One afternoon at the Meredith house, Rosemary Meredith even came over to spend the day "with the girls," as she said with relish.

"John is studying, as usual," she explained as Winnie fetched her a tall glass of iced tea and Ruthie curled up at her feet like a little dog. "And I did all the housework this morning, and was just sitting in that old kitchen bored stiff, so I thought I would come see what you all were up to!" She looked around with bright eyes.

"My, it is good to be back in the old place again. Ruth, you and Bruce have done wonders here. This used to be my home, you know," she explained to Gwen. "I lived here with my sister Ellen until I married Rev. Meredith. She and her husband Norman Douglas lived here after that, and when they passed on they left the house to Bruce. Norman always insisted Bruce was meant to be their child, anyway. He looked just like his Aunt Ellen, always!"

Grandmother Meredith had sleek grey hair that used to be golden, and large blue eyes. She was tall and willowy, and her voice was warm and soft. In short, nothing like Uncle Bruce.

"We're always glad to have you here, Mother Meredith," Aunt Ruth said. "Gwen and I were going to do some baking, but mercy! It's so hot, even up here with all the wind. I hate the thought of using that old black stove at all today."

Grandmother Meredith nodded. "This summer has been a terrible one for heat. Cold meats and garden vegetables for supper, Ruth—that's what I would recommend! Save the cooking and baking for another day."

"I think you're right," Aunt Ruth said, fanning herself. "On days like this, I envy you, Gwen, and Mother Meredith. You're so tall and slim—and here I am, round and short and dripping with perspiration!"

"Oh, you have a lovely figure, Auntie," Gwen protested. "Look at me—I'm just a _twig_. No shape at all."

"You both look lovely to me," Grandmother Meredith said serenely. From many women, that would have sounded patently false, but coming from her, it sounded sweet and utterly sincere. She was that sort of woman.

"What about _us_, Grandmother?" Winnie asked. "How do Ruthie and I look?"

Grandmother Meredith leaned down and kissed both their cheeks. "You two are darling, and always will be to me."

Winnie beamed. "Good. I like to look pretty, even though Miss Flagg told me yesterday during Sunday School that I shouldn't think so much about my looks, or else I'll grow up bad like my cousin Gwen." She didn't seem to hear the sudden, deathly silence that descended on the room. "I told _her_ that if she said anything bad about my cousin Gwen I would slap her, and then she told me I was a very naughty girl. So I'm very glad you think I'm darling, Grandmother."

"Winifred," Aunt Ruth said in a warning tone.

Winnie looked around innocently. "What? Don't you think I'm darling, Mamma?"

"Don't scold her, Auntie," Gwen said in a low voice. "She doesn't know any better."

Ruthie didn't understand what was happening, but she sensed that Gwen was upset, so she got up from her position at Grandmother Meredith's feet and trotted over to curl up in Gwen's lap. And despite the heat, Gwen cuddled her close, grateful for the comfort of a warm, trusting little body.

"What on earth is the child talking about?" Grandmother Meredith said in amazement. "Why would your Sunday School teacher think Gwen is bad, Winnie?"

"Oh, because everybody says the _real_ reason they came here this year was because Gwen was being bad, so Aunt Di and Uncle Jon had to invent a trip to China just for an excuse to send Gwen away," Winnie chirped blithely. "But I told Miss Flagg that she was an evil-minded gossip, just like I heard you telling Mrs. Douglas at the store the other day, Mamma."

Gwen was suddenly torn between laughter and tears. What a preposterous tale! And she could just imagine brave little Winnie standing up to her Sunday School teacher and mimicking her mother!

Aunt Ruth buried her face in her hands. "Oh Winifred, Winifred, what am I going to do with you?"

"Could someone _please_ explain all this to me?" Grandmother Meredith said to the air.

Gwen didn't feel up to repeating the tale, but with a glance at her, Aunt Ruth filled Grandmother Meredith in on the bare details. Grandmother's face grew more and more stern as Aunt Ruth spoke.

"And people are not only believing this, but repeating it, in greater detail, without having any proof of the veracity of such a thing?" she said. "Well, I knew we had our share of gossips here in the Glen, but I didn't think any of them would stoop this low. To blacken a young girl's reputation like this, based on nothing more than a few false tales! Oh, I wish my sister Ellen was still alive. _She_ would make their ears ring with some plain truths!"

"Oh Grandmother," Gwen said piteously. "Please don't go talking to anybody about this. I just want to act like nothing happened. Surely people will forget about it all in a week or so."

Grandmother Meredith shook her head. "Gwen, I wish I could accommodate you, but this is about more than just you. If people are allowed to gossip and lie and spread rumours without impunity, before long they will be saying anything, doing anything. Wickedness must be stopped, my dear. Truth must triumph over falsehoods. I'm sorry, Gwen, but I must do what I can to combat this terrible atrocity."

"What are you going to do?" Gwen asked fearfully. Grandmother Meredith was nowhere near as volatile as Aunt Persis, but Gwen thought she would be more afraid of that quiet authority than all of Aunt Persis' dramatics, were she an offender.

"I am simply going to talk to Rebecca Flagg first, and then Mary Douglas, and any others I hear of who are participating in this wicked behaviour, and remind them of what it means to _love one's neighbour_, and live in Christian charity. I shall, perhaps, ask Mary how she would feel if someone were to spread such lies about _her_ daughter without any proof, and ask Rebecca the same, only about herself. Perhaps being reminded that you, my dear Gwen, are a living human being with feelings just like anyone else, will help them remember to curb their tongues."

She stood up decisively. "And if _that_ fails, I shall ask them if they want me to bring my _husband_ into the matter, to address this issue from the pulpit!"

"Oh, Grandmother!"

"Not to worry, child, it won't come to that. Most people in this village either adore or are afraid of my husband. Or both. The simple threat of bringing him in should silence them, if need be. Though I _hope_ that it won't come to that, and that I may simply be able to awaken their consciences."

She bent down to kiss the twins again. "Goodbye, my dears. Thank you for a most enlightening visit."

With that, she swept out of the house, leaving Gwen and Aunt Ruth looking helplessly at each other.

"My," Gwen said at last in a small, awed voice. "I had no idea she could be so …"

"Forceful?" Aunt Ruth supplied.

Gwen nodded. "She always seems so meek and quiet."

"Those are the ones you must always watch out for," Aunt Ruth said. She looked down at her two, shy Ruthie and bold Winnie, and sighed. "Some days I think I'm watching the wrong one."

* * *

Things got marginally better for Gwen after that. None of her peers returned to being her friend, but the adults of the Glen started at least acknowledging her existence again. Mrs. Douglas went further than any of them, apologizing publicly to Gwen in the middle of the store, and promised her free ice cream soda from the pharmacy any time she wanted.

"I hold Rev. and Mrs. Meredith in higher regard than anyone else in the world," she announced loudly. "When Mrs. Meredith told me I wasn't behaving like a Christian, well, it stung, but I listened. And then when she told me to think how I would feel if people were saying things about my Lucy, I saw red. From now on, Gwen, if you'll forgive me, you'll always have a friend in Mary Vance Douglas, and anyone who wants to say anything against you will have to deal with _me_."

What else could Gwen say to that but that of course she forgave Mrs. Douglas? And truly, she did, though the sting of what the woman had said about her, and how she'd treated Gwen, remained with the girl for the rest of her days.

People had a tendency to overlook Gwen's feelings—Lee was so very sensitive, and Gwen was so very good at turning attention away from herself, that often people forgot that she had a heart, too. Which was why Aunt Nan and Uncle Jerry could tease her about her clumsiness and never think that they might be wounding her, and why Mary Douglas honestly had never thought about how her words might affect Gwen.

Affect her they did, though, and even after everything smoothed over, even though Gwen never mentioned it to Mrs. Douglas or Rebecca Flagg or any of the other Glen women, those few weeks of shunning and sneering left their mark on her. Never again was she to be quite so open, quite so trusting. Her lifelong belief that the whole world was full of people just waiting to become friends had been shaken irrevocably.

Now, she always wondered what people were _really_ thinking about her, and it took her a long time to get to the point where she could trust someone enough to consider that person a friend.

All of which explained why, after leaving Flagg and Douglas, when Gwen saw Oliver on the road ahead of her, she turned aside before he saw her, rather than run to catch up to him and try to explain the situation, as she once would have done.

What if he listened to her and still didn't believe her? What if he wouldn't even listen? What if he hadn't believed it to begin with, but had just decided he didn't want to be friends with a pariah?

No, Gwen decided. If Oliver wanted to be friends with her, he could take the next step. She just didn't have the heart to try anymore.

* * *

Chloe was waiting for Gwen by the Ingleside gate. She, obviously, had heard of Mrs. Douglas's about-face, for her cheeks were flushed and her eyes filled with malice.

"Don't think you've won," she hissed.

Gwen thought of all the heartache she had endured in the last few weeks, of the friendships lost and illusions destroyed. How did this constitute winning? And when had she and Chloe started competing, anyway?

"I have _lots_ more plans for you," Chloe continued, smirking. "And my brothers have some ideas in mind, too. Oh, it's not just you. You'll see. We're going to make _all_ you Blakes sorry you came to the Island!"

Gwen's eyes narrowed. "Leave my brothers and sister alone," she said in a low voice.

Chloe flinched.

"You don't scare me," Isaiah said unexpectedly, materializing behind his sister. He glared at Gwen. "Chloe doesn't like you. That means Isaac and I don't like you. We are going to make your life miserable, and there's nothing you can do to stop us!"

And looking at his angry young face, Gwen felt helplessly that he was right.

She didn't sleep much that night, wondering what the Fords would do next. If destroying Gwen's reputation was just the first step, how much worse would the next one be?

In the morning, she sought out Phil before breakfast, before he could take off for Uncle Carl's as he usually did. Reluctantly, she told him all about what was going on with the Fords.

"We can't tell Lee or Jo," she said, "Or they'll just get upset and start spilling things to the adults, and _then_ we'll have a fine mess on our hands. But I wanted you to be warned, at least, Phil. If we're both keeping an eye on them, hopefully we can keep them from doing anything too bad."

Phil stuck his hands in his pockets and fixed Gwen with a steady gaze. "Why didn't you say something before, Gwen?"

Gwen blushed. "It was so … ridiculous, and humiliating, and I didn't want you to be upset."

"I'm your brother," Phil pointed out. "I'm supposed to get upset when people hurt you."

"Yes, but you couldn't have done anything about it," Gwen countered.

"I could have done this," Phil said, and reached over to give her a firm hug.

Tears stung Gwen's eyes. It was nice to have a brother standing with you.

"Don't worry about Chloe and the twins," Phil said reassuringly. "They can't do anything too bad to us, not as long as we stick together."

Gwen hoped he was right. He hadn't seen Isaiah's face the previous night, though. That was the face of a boy who would do anything—absolutely anything.


	15. Chapter 15

The first Gwen knew of the Fords' latest trick was when Uncle Carl stormed into Ingleside's parlour. Uncle Carl was usually the most easy-going of men, but now his blue eyes were stormy and a scowl covered his entire face.

"Why, Carl!" Grandmother said, looking up from her knitting lesson with Lee and Leigh. "Whatever has happened?"

Uncle Carl drew in a deep breath, obviously trying to calm down. "Someone came into my study this morning while I was out fishing with Shirley and Ken, and destroyed some of my best entomological specimens."

"Oh no," Grandmother said in dismay. "Who would do such a thing?"

"Phil was in your study this morning," Isaac piped up from the corner, his eyes wide with innocence. "I saw him going in through the window. Maybe he saw somebody?"

"I wasn't—" Phil began, and stopped abruptly, realizing too late Isaac's trap. Gwen's heart sank down to her toes.

Uncle Carl turned his stare to his nephew. "Philip?" he said incredulously. "Did _you_ destroy my specimens?"

Gwen couldn't blame him for being suspicious. Phil knew Uncle Carl was going to be out fishing, and Isaac's simple statement that he had crept in through the _window_, followed by Phil's automatic denial, sounded awfully convincing. None of the adults knew anything about the feud between the Fords and Blakes, and so to them, Isaac would have no reason to make up such a story.

_Say no_, Gwen silently begged her brother, but he ignored her pleading eyes. He stood up and faced Uncle Carl squarely.

"I'm sorry about the specimens," he said, his face set. Isaac's malicious grin from the corner made Gwen want to hit him. "I'll pay you back for them."

Gwen couldn't keep her mouth closed any longer. "Oh Uncle Carl, Phil would _never_—"

"Shut up, Gwen," Phil growled.

"But _Philly_—"

Phil turned to glare at her, and Gwen closed her mouth abruptly.

Uncle Carl shook his head wearily. "You could never pay me enough to make up for the loss, lad. I just want to know why?"

Despite his best efforts, Phil's lips trembled a little at the disappointment in his favourite uncle's voice. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I'm sure it was an accident, Carl," Grandmother said, clearly distressed.

Uncle Carl looked back at Phil, as though hoping for confirmation of this, but when the boy said nothing, his shoulders sagged a little.

"I hope so. In any case, I can't have Phil over anymore. I'm sorry, Phil, but I can't have someone I can't trust working alongside me."

Phil swallowed once and nodded. Lee burst into tears and ran sobbing out of the room, and out the house. Leigh stood up, cast one sad look at everyone in the room, and followed her.

"I'm sorry," Uncle Carl said to Grandmother, and then he too left.

"Oh Philip," Grandmother said after he was gone.

Phil couldn't take her disappointment in him, too. "I'm sorry, Grandmother," he whispered, and bolted.

"It's a mistake," Gwen declared passionately, ignoring Isaac for fear she _would_ hit him, right there in front of Grandmother. "Phil would never do that, Grandmother. He wouldn't."

"Then why didn't he say so?" Grandmother asked, reasonably enough.

Gwen set her lips. "I don't know," she said severely. "But I'm going to find out, right now."

* * *

Phil was in a secluded corner of Rainbow Valley, lying on his stomach with his face pressed into the soft moss. Gwen approached him tentatively.

"Phil?"

He raised his head. His eyes were dry, but his expression was worse than tears would have been.

"Go away."

"I can't do that, Philly, and you know it." Gwen sat down next to him and tucked her skirt around her knees. "Why didn't you just tell Uncle Carl the truth?"

Phil rolled over onto his back and stared up at the sky. "Because that would have meant calling Isaac a liar."

"But he is."

"But I don't want to make Grandmother and Uncle Carl choose between us. That's not fair to them."

"But this isn't fair to you!" Gwen burst out passionately.

Phil turned his head and, surprisingly, gave her a crooked smile. "I know. Just like it's not fair to you that Chloe is spreading all those lies about you and the Kingsport boys, but I didn't notice you telling Oliver the truth, did you?"

Gwen blushed. Did _everyone_ know about her crush on Oliver? "That's different."

Phil turned his gaze back to the blue sky and clouds. "Sure it is."

Gwen clenched her fists. "Phil, we have to do something. We can't keep let them do this to us. What if next they do something to Jo-Jo? Or _Lee_?"

Phil sighed. "I know, Gwennie. But what can we do? We can't stoop to their level. That makes us no better than them. We just have to keep on doing the best we can, and hope that eventually they tire of this."

Gwen sighed. "I've always suspected you were the most like Dad out of all of us, Philly, and now I know it. Why do you have to be so good? Can't you be just a little bad, to keep me company?"

"You wouldn't want to do anything nasty to them, either, Gwen, not if it came right down to it. You _know_ you wouldn't."

"I know," Gwen said quietly. "But I wish I _could_."

Phil surprised her again with another quick grin. "So do I, actually."

The brother and sister were quiet for a few moments. Then Gwen said,

"So what are you going to do now?"

Phil sat up, his face determined. "I'm going to start paying Uncle Carl back. It'll probably take me the rest of my life, but I'm going to do it, even though he said not to."

Gwen wanted to protest again, but on second thought, decided not to. "I'll help," she said instead. She didn't really need those new shoes, or that professional haircut. "If we pool our resources, it'll only take us _half_ our lives."

Phil slipped his arm around her in an unusual show of brotherly affection. "Thanks, sis."

* * *

As it turned out, they didn't have to bankrupt their futures, after all. Oliver stopped by Ingleside during their usual Sunday afternoon dinner to see Uncle Carl.

Uncle Carl half rose from his seat as Lynde ushered Oliver in to the dining room. "Don't tell me something else has happened to my specimens!"

"No sir," Oliver said. "In fact, I'm here to set the record straight about those others."

Uncle Carl raised his eyebrows. "Oh? I wasn't aware the record was off."

Oliver nodded. "Indeed it is, Dr. Meredith. You see, Phil couldn't have damaged your specimens Friday morning. He wasn't anywhere near your study, in fact. He was with me, helping me with my science homework." As Uncle Carl's jaw dropped (making him look exceedingly foolish), Oliver turned to where Phil was sitting with a stare of blank astonishment and gratitude on his face. "It was good of you, old man, to not tell, but when I asked you to keep it under your hat about me needing help, I didn't mean for you to go to that great of an extent."

"Why didn't you say something, Phil?" Grandmother cried.

"Why did you tell me you saw Phil?" Uncle Carl fiercely demanded of Isaac at the same time.

Isaac turned bright red and began to stutter.

"Isaac must have made a mistake," Gwen said quickly. Part of her wanted to leave her cousin to stew, but the other part of her knew Phil would prefer it this way. "Right, Isaac?"

He stared suspiciously at her, obviously wondering why she would come to his defence. "Uh, right."

"Well, next time, be sure of your facts before presenting a theory," Uncle Carl snapped. He turned his back on the shamefaced Isaac and looked Phil squarely in the eye. "I'm truly sorry, Philip, for jumping to conclusions. I should have known that you wouldn't do such a thing."

Phil now looked exceedingly uncomfortable. "Don't worry about it, Uncle Carl."

"But Phil," Grandmother persisted, still distressed, "why didn't you just tell us that Isaac made a mistake? Why let yourself be falsely accused?"

"'For what glory is it, if, when ye be buffeted for your faults, ye shall take it patiently? But if, when ye do well, and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God,'" the minister's son said unexpectedly. Gwen recognized the verse as one from First Peter—one that Dad always quoted to them about not defending themselves if accused of something.

Uncle Carl sighed. "There is such a thing as taking Scripture too far, Phil."

"With all due respect, Uncle Carl, I don't think so," Phil answered calmly.

"Quoth the Reverend's child," Aunt Faith laughed, and suddenly everyone was laughing and smiling, and Gwen felt like the sun had come out again. Uncle Carl respected Phil even more now than he had before all this happened—that was plain to see—and once again, they had gotten the best of the Fords without having to stoop to their level.

She smiled gratefully at Oliver. At the moment, she didn't know if Phil really had been helping him study, or if he had made that up to save her brother, and right then she didn't even care.

Then she remembered the stories Chloe had told him about her, and she blushed and looked away. She felt wretchedly mortified until she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. She knew even without looking it was Oliver's.

"Come outside for a moment?" he asked her quietly.

Gwen nodded wordlessly. She got up and followed him outside, vividly aware of Chloe's hate-filled glare at her back.

Oliver led her all the way to Rainbow Valley, where they couldn't be overheard by anyone in the house.

"Dr. Meredith isn't the only one who owes somebody in your family an apology," he began without preamble, his hands stuck in his pockets. "I owe you one, too."

"What … for what?" Gwen asked breathlessly.

"For believing what Chloe told me about you." Oliver looked down and kicked the ground angrily. "I never should have listened to her … I should have known better than that. I should have known _you_ better than that. I didn't want to believe her … but she sounded so sure. I mean, she had names! I didn't think she could make something up in that great detail."

Gwen's heart was singing—he believed in her again!—but she still answered practically. "Why should you? You've known Chloe your whole life, and you never met me before this winter. Of course you would believe her instead of me."

Oliver looked at her, shook his head, and laughed. "Gwen, I've never met anyone like you. You're supposed to be mad at me! You're supposed to say things like 'I thought you were my friend,' and 'I don't know if I can ever forgive you,' and things like that."

Gwen thought about that. "Would it make you happier if I did? Because honestly, I'd just like to be friends again, like we were before."

Oliver took one step toward her. "I'd like that, too."

She smiled at him. "All right, then." She stuck out her hand, and Oliver gravely shook it, and the friendship was sealed.

Without one word, they began to walk together, turning their steps to the shore road. "How did you find out the truth?" Gwen asked, consumed with curiosity. "And was Phil really with you Friday morning?"

"He really was." Oliver answered the second question first. "My science grades dropped last year, and I was too embarrassed to ask Dad or any adult to help. I knew Phil was a whiz-bang at science, so I asked him to tutor me on the sly, and he said he would, and wouldn't tell anyone.

"As for when I found out the truth, you can thank your little brother for that."

"Jo-Jo?"

Oliver nodded. "He must have figured out what Phil and I were doing—that kid is too clever for his own or anyone else's good, sometimes—and came to me this morning at church to ask me to set the record straight. Up to that point, I had no idea that the Fords were plotting against you Blakes at all, or any of it." He looked sheepish. "I can be pretty clueless, sometimes."

"I can't believe Jo went to you, all on his own like that," Gwen marvelled.

"I've always known Chloe had a jealous streak, and that the twins were full of tricks, not always nice ones, but I never imagined they'd do anything like that against family. You Blythes are all so clannish, most of the time."

"According to Chloe, we're not real Blythes," Gwen said a little bitterly. Her cousin's comment in that area still rankled. "We're Blakes, by character as well as name."

"No reason you can't be both Blake and Blythe, is there?" Oliver asked, sensibly enough.

Gwen laughed, and her spirits lifted. Ahead of them, the sun was sparkling off the sea, and Phil's name was cleared, and Oliver was her friend again. It was a beautiful day. "I suppose not!"

She and Oliver had a delightful stroll along the shore. It was twilight as they came back to Ingleside finally, and he bid her goodnight at the gate. Gwen walked dreamily up the path to the house, only to be greeted by Chloe's vengeful whisper from the verandah.

"This isn't over," she hissed, and Gwen could see the angry sparkle in her eyes even through the dim light. "Just you wait."

Gwen shook her head wearily. "Chloe, why can't we just let all this go? I don't dislike you. If we can't be friends, can't we at least be at peace?"

"Never!" Chloe declared, and she jumped off the verandah and vanished into the night.

"Never mind her, sis," Phil said, coming out of the shadows on the other side of the house. "She can't do anything to hurt us, not now. They're trying too hard—they're only going to end up hurting themselves."

Gwen put her arm around his shoulders. He was getting tall enough that she was having a difficult time doing that and still keeping her balance, but she managed. "I don't mind her," she answered him. "So long as I have you, and Lee, and Jo, I don't mind _anything_."


	16. Chapter 16

Gwen and Phil were both at Aunt Ruth's—Phil was playing in the yard with the twins; they were having a circus and he was their elephant—while Gwen and Aunt Ruth were attempting to bake bread, despite the scorching heat, when Jo burst into the kitchen without ever knocking.

His face was cherry red from running in the heat, and he was gasping for air.

"Jo!" Gwen cried in alarm. Outside, the elephant suddenly stood on his hind legs, displacing two highly indignant riders, and dashed inside.

"Sit down and drink this glass of water," Aunt Ruth ordered sharply, pushing him into a wooden chair and pressing a cool glass into his hands.

Jo mutely obeyed, and slowly his colour began to return to normal.

"Now," Gwen said, kneeling down to be at eye level with him, "What happened?"

Tears filled his eyes, surprising her, for Jo was not usually given to crying. "Bluebell is missing," he said.

"Bluebell?" Aunt Ruth asked.

"His blue bunny," Phil supplied.

"You ran all this way in this heat over a stuffed toy?" Aunt Ruth said, aghast.

Gwen ignored her. She knew, even if her aunt didn't, how important Bluebell was. "When did you last see him, darling?"

"This morning, I left him and Teddy on the shelf above my bed, like always," Jo said, blinking angrily to dispel the tears. "And when I came back upstairs after breakfast, Teddy was still there, but Bluebell was gone."

Gwen turned and met Phil's eyes, and knew they were thinking the same thing. _The Fords_. One of the twins must have snuck in and stolen Bluebell, knowing how much Jo loved him.

Gwen felt pressure in her stomach as rage started to build, but she ignored it for now. Later on, rage would be appropriate. Right now, she needed to help Jo.

"Don't worry, Jo-Jo," she said with forced cheer. "I'm sure Bluebell is just off having a little adventure on his own. He'll be back in no time."

"Bluebell never goes off on his own," Jo said seriously. "Teddy's the adventurous one. Bluebell only likes adventures if I'm there with him."

"Maybe the fairies borrowed him for a day," Phil said. He came and squatted down next to Gwen, his face perfectly calm. "You know fairies can't resist a blue bunny."

"Really?"

"Absolutely," Gwen chimed in. "Blue bunnies to fairies are like … like … like catnip to cats. And we all know Rainbow Valley is thick with fairies. One of them probably saw you with Bluebell, and couldn't help but borrow him for the day."

Jo's chin wobbled a little bit more. "But … they'll bring him back, won't they? He'll be lonely and scared without me, even with the fairies."

"Don't worry, Jo-Jo," Gwen said, her eyes bright with determination. "I promise you, Bluebell will be back by tonight."

She stood up. "Aunt Ruth, if you'll excuse me, I need to go check some fairy haunts, and explain to them that this particular blue bunny needs to go home."

"Certainly, child," Aunt Ruth said, utterly bewildered.

Jo's face was suddenly radiant. "You'll do that, Gwennie? You'll find the fairies and bring Bluebell back?"

"Of course she will," Phil said, clapping him on the back. "And I'll help her. You stay close to Ingleside, Jo, in case Bluebell comes back on his own. Gwen and I will scour the land for any sign of fairies, and tell them what's what."

"OK," Jo said, using his favourite bit of slang borrowed from Jack. He slid down out of the chair and handed the glass back to Aunt Ruth. "Thank you for the water," he said very politely, and then he was dragging his siblings along by their hands. "Come on," he said. "We haven't got all day!"

* * *

Phil and Gwen stood in front of the old Moore house. Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken were gone visiting friends over-harbour, and the twins and Chloe were out, but Uncle Ken had brought his city habits back to the Island with him, and locked their doors before going.

"Would they have taken Bluebell with them?" Phil asked.

Gwen shook her head. "Where would they have put him? He's not exactly pocket-sized. Besides, could you imagine Isaac trying to explain it away when someone noticed him lugging a blue bunny around everywhere?"

Even in his anger, Phil had to smile at that image. "OK, not with them. Will we have to break a window to look in their rooms?"

Gwen's eyes traveled around the property slowly. "Let's look in all the outbuildings first," she said. "Aunt Rilla usually makes all their beds and tidies up for them." She knew this because Lynde had told her, sniffing over the laziness that encouraged in boys. Chloe was expected to keep her room clean, but Aunt Rilla didn't think boys ought to do that sort of thing. Lynde, naturally, had a different opinion. "They might have put him in Chloe's room, but if they really wanted to keep him hidden, the barns and sheds would be their best choice. None of the grown-ups go there."

Phil was not a prig, but neither was he particularly fond of crawling around dusty, dirty, dark spaces. Unless it was in pursuit of science, of course, in which case he would cheerfully endure all three. For a personal preference, however, he preferred to keep tidy.

"Let's get it over with, then," he said with a sigh.

They went all through the big barn, and the stable, and one of the sheds, before they finally found him. He was shoved in the darkest, dirtiest corner of the equipment shed, head down and blue tail up. When Gwen pulled him out and they took him out into the sunlight, they both gasped.

He was a _wreck_. His ears were both torn, stuffing falling out of them. One paw was ripped almost entirely off. Dirt covered his entire body, ground in so deeply in places that his blue plush almost looked black.

"Oh, poor Bluebell," Gwen mourned, holding him close, not caring about the fact that she was getting even more dirt on her once-white blouse.

"How are we going to explain this?" Phil asked helplessly. "Jo knows fairies would never do this to Bluebell."

"I don't know," Gwen said. "We'll have to just take him back and hope that Jo's fertile imagination concocts a reasonable explanation."

The explanation Jo came up with was reasonable enough, but it was not one to bring comfort. His entire face crumpled when he saw Bluebell.

"Oh, no!" he cried in horror. "I knew it! It wasn't fairies at all—someone kidnapped him! He was alone and frightened and hurt, and _I wasn't there_!"

He turned and ran up the stairs, fleeing to his bedroom. Gwen felt as though someone had physically struck her. She turned stricken eyes to Phil.

"What do we do now?"

Lynde took Bluebell from her arms. "I can fix him up in no time" she said. "A little soap and water, a bit of sewing and re-stuffing, and he'll be as good as new."

That wouldn't help Jo, though. He would always remember the suffering Bluebell had endured, and his heart would break again every time he looked at his bunny.

Gwen was suddenly very glad Grandmother and Grandfather had taken Lee and Leigh to Avonlea for a few days. She didn't want anyone else in her family to see what she was about to do.

"You try to talk to Jo," she told Phil tersely. "I'm going to take care of a few things."

With that, Gwen stormed away from Ingleside in a cold fury. This was nothing like Grandmother or Mother's impulsive, red-hot anger that clouded the mind and made one act out of impulse. No, this was the Blake anger—calculated, focused, and icy. Gwen had never been in its grip before, at least not so tightly, but she'd seen it in Jeremy, in Uncle Jeremiah, even in her father that time he found out who the father was of poor, disgraced Mary Winthrop's baby.

Chloe, Gwen thought with grim humour, had perhaps been more right than she realized when she claimed Gwen was "all Blake" instead of Blythe.

She knew where she would find Isaac and Isaiah—down at the Glen pond planning their latest torment. She had overheard their whispers the previous night and not thought much about it beyond a mild impatience that they refused to give up.

Well, they would _give it up_ now.

Sure enough, there they were, whispering together while Jack, Oliver, and Van fished nearby. Gwen noticed the older boys but ignored them. So long as they stayed out of her way, they were irrelevant. As she drew closer she saw that Chloe was sitting on the bridge, too, fluttering her eyelashes at Oliver (who was ignoring her) and giggling with Van (who was _not_ ignoring her).

For a moment, Gwen was tempted to change her plan, to go for Chloe instead of the twins. A lifetime of having boys for friends, though, had ingrained in her the gentlemanly concept that one does not hit girls.

Besides, Chloe wouldn't respond to a physical threat the way the twins would. Gwen clenched her fists and drove straight for Isaac.

He didn't even see her until she was on him, and then it was too late. One well-directed shove, and he was in the pond and out of her way. Isaiah turned on her in a fury himself, but Gwen grabbed the collar of his shirt and lifted him right off his feet, bringing him nose to nose with her.

"Don't ever hurt my brother again," she said in a freezing, biting tone. Isaiah's mouth dropped open in shock.

Isaac, sitting in the shallows, wore the same expression of bewilderment, mixed with a hint of fear. Gwen saw it and rejoiced. Up above, on the bridge, Chloe finally registered what had just happened and gasped in outrage.

"Leave my brother alone!" she shrilled, and started to dart down from the railing. Jack caught her shoulder and held her fast.

"Let them handle it between them," he said calmly, but with a hint of steel in his voice that none of them had ever heard from dreamer Jack before. Chloe shut her mouth with a snap and held still.

Gwen noticed all this peripherally; her attention was still focused on Isaiah. "I don't want to hear of you playing any more tricks on _anyone_ in this family, do you understand? Either of you," flashing a warning glance at Isaac. He had been in the act of lifting himself out of the water, but at the edge in her tone he promptly sat back down in the mud.

"Not on Jo, not on Phil, not on Lee. Nor Owen or Tommy or any of the rest. If you do, you will have me to deal with. Do you understand me?" She shook Isaiah just slightly, just enough to make her point.

He dropped his eyes. "Yes."

"Yes," Isaac added from the water.

Gwen opened her hand, and Isaiah barely caught himself before falling to the ground.

"Good."

With that, and without sparing a glance for the crimson-with-fury Chloe, she spun on her heel and walked away.

That took care of _them_. Now all she had to do was figure out how to mend Jo's crushed heart, and make sure Chloe stayed out of their way for the rest of the summer.

She wasn't sure which was going to be more difficult.

* * *

As had become her habit when she was perplexed, Gwen found herself running along the shore a short while later. She was barefoot, in a skirt and blouse, but she soon found her rhythm and her head started to return to normal. By the time she reached the rocks, and saw the figure there awaiting her, she was her old self again.

"I thought I might see you here," she said by way of greeting.

Oliver smiled. "It wasn't too difficult to guess where you were headed, especially after Phil came along after you left and filled in the details of what had just happened."

Gwen looked around the little cove, with the gulls keening overhead and the salt water misting up at their feet. "I will miss this, even more than Ingleside or Rainbow Valley, when I go back to Kingsport."

Oliver's face changed, just a little. "That was quite impressive, how you handled the twins," he said abruptly.

Gwen blushed, something she had not done around him for many weeks now. Somewhere between Chloe's lies and the twins' theft of Bluebell, her crush on Oliver had faded into the background.

"I think I was a real bully," she said ruefully.

Oliver shook his head. "They deserved it. And you weren't being a bully—you were protecting those you love. I just—well, I never would have guessed you had it in you to be so …"

"Tough?" Gwen scrunched her face up and mock-growled, smacking her fist against the open palm of her other hand. As she hoped, Oliver laughed.

"Well, I always knew you were strong, just not that strong, I guess. I don't think you'll need to worry anymore about the twins."

"No," Gwen agreed, feeling quite certain on that. "Not about them."

"Jack was giving Chloe quite the lecture when I left," Oliver said. "What they did to Jo pushed him too far, too. With everyone else, he figured he would leave you all to sort it out, that it would be better for him not to interfere, but Jo-Jo … they shouldn't have done that to him."

"No," Gwen said again, this time with anger colouring her words once more. "They should not have."

"Anyway, I don't think Chloe will have the heart to pull anything on anyone once Jack has finished with her. For all his poetry, he can be pretty forceful when he wants." Oliver grinned. "Almost as forceful as you."

Gwen breathed in through her nose and tried to release her anger again. One difficulty out of the way. "Now all I have to do is help Jo-Jo," she mused aloud.

"Any ideas on how to make that happen? You know I'll help, if I can."

"Lynde is already sewing Bluebell's war wounds up. He'll have a few scars, but Jo doesn't care about that. It's the thought of Bluebell suffering, of being scared and wondering where Jo was and why he didn't come to the rescue, that's tormenting him now."

Oliver's face was dark. "You know, maybe I should go visit the Ford twins, too, just in case they didn't get the message from you."

At his obvious display of protectiveness and affection for Jo, the last of Gwen's fury melted away. She had been asking herself all through her run what Mother would do for Jo, and now she had an idea.

"I'll write him a story," she said slowly, her eyes on the water as it rolled toward them and back out, ever and inexorably. "That's what Mother would do. She would write him a story about Bluebell, about all the exciting adventures he had while he was kidnapped, how the fairies came and helped him, how he knew that eventually Jo would come after him, and how he was never afraid, because knowing that Jo would find him made him brave. I'll sign it with a fairy's name, so he won't know I wrote it, and include a little note to him from the fairy, about how they wanted him to know what happened, and how lucky Bluebell is to have Jo for a friend. Maybe I'll ever get Leigh to draw some pictures to go along with it."

"Do you think that will work? Will Jo believe it?" Oliver asked hopefully.

Gwen withdrew her gaze from the sea. "Yes," she said positively. "Even if he doesn't _believe_ it, he'll tell himself he does, and that will be just as good."

She came very close to flinging her arms around Oliver in an exuberant hug, in her relief at having thought of a solution, but managed to stop herself in time. She settled for shining her most radiant smile on him, not noticing the way his skin turned a dark red hue.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what? You're the one who handled it all."

"For helping me see clearly. For caring about Jo. For …" she laughed. "For not criticizing me for what I did to Isaac and Isaiah. I'm not guilty about it—but if Lynde ever finds out, she'll have my head!"

Oliver laughed, too. "I doubt it. Lynde adores Jo-Jo just as much as the rest of us do. If you hadn't handled the twins, she might have gone after them with her rolling pin."

The mental image that accompanied those words tickled Gwen so much that she was soon bent over double, clutching her stomach, gasping for air because she was laughing so hard. Her mirth was contagious; soon Oliver was collapsed on the ground in spasms of laughter, too.

"And the boys … running for their lives … with Lynde charging after them, waving the rolling pin above her head," Gwen managed to get out.

"We should … should call her … Boudicca," Oliver snorted.

Eventually, the laughter ran its course, and they were able to walk sedately back to Ingleside. At the gate, Oliver prepared to go on back to his home.

"Thank you," Gwen said. "Again. For everything."

"I still don't think I did much of anything, but … you're welcome, Gwen." His dark eyes were intent on her face, and Gwen felt another blush rise to her cheeks. For one wild moment she thought he might be going to kiss her.

The thought ought to have excited her, but instead she panicked. "I'll see you later," she blurted, and whirled around to fumble her way blindly up the lane to the house, bumping into the occasional tree along the way. By the time she felt safe enough to look back over her shoulder, Oliver had gone.

And then, her inconsistent heart felt disappointed!


	17. Chapter 17

_Once upon a time, there was a little bunny. His ears were blue, his paws were blue, his tail was blue … he was blue all over, and his name was Bluebell. He lived with a little boy named Josiah, and he was very, very happy._

Gwen paused and tapped the pen against her teeth. That, she thought, was a very good opening. She looked out her window at the lowering sun, reflecting red and gold against the stone wall of the garden. The late poppies glowed in the warm dimming light. She smiled dreamily and bent her head again to her task, thinking with a bit of surprise that she actually was enjoying the writing of this. She wondered if Mother felt this way about writing her column … like magic was just waiting to pour from her fingertips.

Without realizing it, Gwen wrote straight through the night. Dawn was just starting to peek over the horizon when she rose stiffly from her desk, took the sheaf of paper containing a story of a blue bunny and his grand adventures with the fairies from her desk, and crept downstairs to lay it on the doorstep, weighted down with a white stone she had found earlier in the day.

In the end, she had decided not to ask Leigh to draw any pictures to go with the story. The fewer people who knew about it, the better. Jo was imaginative, yes, but he was also smart, and he listened to everything happening around him.

The story properly placed, Gwen wearily climbed the stairs again and into bed. She pulled the covers up over her head and hoped no one would notice that for once, she was not the first of her siblings downstairs in the morning. She _needed_ her sleep.

Alas, she was not destined to get it. Scarcely two hours after falling asleep, Gwen was awakened by Jo bursting through her door and leaping on her bed.

"Oof!" she gasped, feeling the full weight of his sturdy body landing on her stomach.

"Look, Gwennie! Look!" he demanded, flourishing the story she'd written last night under her nose. "Look what the fairies left for me! Bluebell was kidnapped, but they came and kept him company until you and Phil found him, and he wasn't scared a bit because he knew I'd send you after him!"

"That's wonderful, Jo-Jo," Gwen managed. "Now may I go back to sleep, please?"

He leaned back and stared at her suspiciously. "Why're you still in bed? You're always up first, you and Phil."

Gwen groaned to herself and sat up. She couldn't hope to stay in bed any longer, not with Jo's quick mind. "I didn't sleep very well last night, that's all, Jo."

"Oh." He nodded understandingly. "You were upset about Bluebell, too."

"I sure was." Gwen ruffled his hair absently, forgetting how much he hated that now that he was a big boy of twelve.

He pulled away, but it was a mark of how happy he was about Bluebell's story that he didn't glare at her. Instead, he patted her head condescendingly.

"Well, if you don't come down soon, Phil is going to eat all your breakfast. Lynde is threatening to give it to him since you're so lazy. And she made pancakes."

That did it. Gwen flung back her covers and leapt for her clothes, sending Jo tumbling to the floor in a giggling heap. "Phil's not eating my pancakes, the greedy pig!"

She dressed in record time and raced downstairs, only to find Phil nowhere in sight. "Where are my pancakes?" she demanded.

"Right here," Lynde said calmly.

Jo was still giggling as he came into the dining room behind Gwen. "Phil's not even here, Gwen. Lynde just told me to tell you that to get you up."

Gwen glared at both of them, but when she saw the pitcher of maple syrup that Lynde placed beside the pancakes, she decided to forgive them.

After all, pancakes were nowhere near as good when they were cold.

* * *

After breakfast, Gwen strolled down to Rainbow Valley, feeling tired but satisfied. It was mid-July—they still had half the summer ahead of them, which they now could enjoy, now this nonsense with the Fords was done. Jo was perfectly satisfied with the story about Bluebell and the fairies. Lee had escaped any torment at all, safe in Avonlea with Grandmother, Grandfather, and Leigh. She would learn how to make bread from Aunt Ruth tomorrow. Today, she would rest and just _be_.

"Morning, Gwen."

Gwen spun around, eyes narrowing in immediate suspicion. "What do you want?" she asked coldly, her good mood dissipated.

Isaiah Ford uncurled from his seat at the base of the White Lady. He stood up to meet Gwen's hostile gaze squarely. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Her jaw dropped. Those words were the last she'd ever expected to hear from her surly cousin. Looking at him more closely now, she saw that for once his gaze was open and honest, his face unmarred by a scowl. Why, he really was quite handsome!

As though he sensed her thoughts, he grinned, and was even more handsome then. "Not what you were expecting, eh?"

"No," she said frankly. "Not exactly."

He shrugged. "Let's just say I had a long talk with myself yesterday, and found that I didn't, in fact, like myself very much. I'd never really thought about it before, but you sort of made me think."

"Well, good," Gwen said without thinking. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth.

Isaiah laughed. "It _is_ good. No one's ever showed me exactly what they thought of me before. Everyone was always too scared."

Gwen shook her head. "Why are you always so angry?"

He shrugged. "It's just always seemed like everyone's out to get me. Ever since I was little, I remember thinking that everyone liked Isaac better, so I would just hate them before they hated me."

"That's really sad, Isaiah," Gwen said slowly.

"Is it?" He looked surprised. "I never thought about it before. It was just the way it was."

"Well, it shouldn't be. People _would_ like you if you gave them a chance, and weren't always doing such awful things to them," Gwen said firmly.

"Do you like me, now?"

She thought about it. "I don't hate you. I don't know if I like you, though. I don't really know you, you see."

"Plus, I did some awful things to you and your brothers." Isaiah's face was glum. "I'm the one who destroyed Uncle Carl's specimens, you know. I … I _enjoyed_ smashing them, and thinking that Phil was going to take the blame. I don't suppose you'll ever forgive me now."

Gwen didn't want to, but looking at his face, shy and hopeful and resigned, and thinking how awful it would be to go through life thinking _nobody_ liked you, or even would like you if you gave them a chance …

"I'll forgive you," she said, deciding that she _would_, even though she didn't want to. Dad always said forgiveness was a choice, not a feeling.

When Isaiah's face lit up like she (and probably no one) had ever seen, she knew it was the right choice. "And … can we be friends?"

"I'm willing to try if you are," Gwen said.

"I've never had a friend before," Isaiah said. "Even Isaac's more just around to help me think up things to do to people. We're not really _friends_, not like Jack and Oliver, or you and Phil. I'm not sure I know how to even _be_ a friend."

"It's not that hard," Gwen smiled.

"Maybe not for you, but you're nice." Now Isaiah was starting to look worried, and Gwen remembered that he was, after all, only thirteen. "I don't know, Gwen. Maybe I can't be your friend. Maybe I'm just mean down to the bone."

"Nonsense," Gwen said firmly. She made up her mind. "Isaiah, I am going to be your friend whether you are mine or not. No matter what you do, you won't be able to shake me. I'll be honest with you, and tell you what I think if you're doing something mean, but I'll still be your friend. You're stuck with me now, boyo."

That seemed to do the trick. That odd, shy grin spread across his face again. "OK," he said. "So, friend. What are we doing today?"

Gwen had been hoping to spend the day alone, but she changed her plans in a flash. Her cousin—her new friend—needed her. "Let's go exploring," she said. "I know the shore this side of the lighthouse quite well, but I've never gone too far in the other direction. Shall we see what lies beyond?"

"Sounds great," he said. "Just us?"

"Unless you'd like some of the others to come along."

"Nope," he decided. "None of them like me, still."

"That will change," Gwen told him. "Once you start to change, and people see it's real, they'll want to be your friend, too."

He looked alarmed. "I don't want _too_ many friends!"

Gwen had to laugh. "Isaiah, you are the strangest boy I ever met!"

He started to get angry, but caught himself. "I suppose I am," he said gloomily, instead.

"That's all right," Gwen reassured him. "It's strange people who are the most fun. Just between you and me? Ordinary people are _boring_. You wait here, then, and I'll go ask Lynde to pack us a picnic lunch."

"OK."

Lynde couldn't quite understand why Gwen would want to be doing anything with one of "those Ford scoundrels," especially after they took Bluebell like that, but when Gwen persisted, she agreed to pack them a picnic.

"Don't blame me, though, if he ends up throwing all this food all over you and running off," she warned. "He's likely only being nice to you so he can play another trick on you, only you're too good-hearted to see it!"

Gwen wondered about that. Was Isaiah just pretending, so he could get back at her for humiliating him and Isaac at the pond? For a moment, she regretted ever agreeing to forgive him and be his friend.

Then she remembered the look on his face when he told her how nobody had ever liked him, and the hope he'd shown when she promised to be his friend, and she knew it couldn't be a trick.

He just wasn't that good of an actor.

* * *

As it turned out, they actually had a grand time. True, Isaiah's temper flared up a few (or several) times, causing Gwen to remind him that he didn't really _need_ to be mad; and true, there were times when Gwen wished she could just be alone; but for two cousins who were enemies only a day ago, it wasn't bad at all.

Isaiah even offered to go to Jo and apologize for taking Bluebell, and confess to Uncle Carl that he was the one who damaged the specimens. Gwen was touched, but refused both offers.

"The story that Jo got from the fairies has set him at peace about Bluebell," she said. "Anything now would just stir him up again. As for Uncle Carl—well, if you told him you did it, he would want to know why, and then everything would come out to everyone, and it would just be a mess. I'd much rather keep it between us cousins, as it is. Things are settled now; there's no need to drag the adults into it."

Isaiah shrugged, "Whatever you want," but Gwen thought he looked relieved. Apologizing to Jo couldn't have been too frightening a thought, but confessing to Uncle Carl … well, _she_ wouldn't have wanted to do it, and that was a fact!

"That was pretty clever of you, writing a story like that for Jo," Isaiah said. "How'd you think of it?"

"I just wondered what Mother would do," Gwen explained. "And since she's a writer, that seemed like the thing she would have done."

"Wasn't it awfully hard?"

Gwen shook her head. Her fair hair caught the sun and reflected it back out to sea, almost blinding Isaiah. "Actually, it was kind of fun. I've never written anything but school assignments before, and this was much more enjoyable. I think I'd like writing stories more often, just for myself or the kids to read."

"I hate reading," Isaiah said. "And I hate writing."

"Is there anything you _don't_ hate?" Gwen asked in mild exasperation.

He considered it. "Well, I suppose there's some things I'm just indifferent to."

"Oh, Isaiah," Gwen sighed. "Life is so full of people and things to love. How can you not see it?"

"I just don't, that's all."

She took his shoulders and turned him to face out to sea. "There," she said. "Look."

The water was a blinding blue that day, sparkling in the sunlight. Overhead, the gulls dipped and swirled, keening their cries to the wind. Further out, white sails of fishing boats dotted the horizon.

On either side of the young pair, the shore stretched out, a combination of sand and stone. Red cliffs rose further down the way, towering against the bleached blue sky. The lighthouse stood in sturdy solitude back the way they had come, a beacon to all who wandered.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Gwen said.

"It's just a bunch of rocks and water," Isaiah said, looking at her strangely. "What's so swell about it?"

"It's lovely," Gwen said. "And just think, Isaiah, God created all this just for us, just to satisfy us with beauty. Isn't that a tremendous thought?"

"Oh—_God_," he sneered. "I know you're a minister's daughter, so you have to believe that stuff, but don't expect me to."

"Why, Isaiah! Don't tell me you don't believe in God?" Gwen grabbed his arm. "Look at everything around us—really _look_ at it. Do you honestly think all this just _happened_? How else could the world be so beautiful if God didn't create it so?"

"Darwin says …" Isaiah began, but he was cut off by Gwen's snort.

"That old fraud," she said scornfully. "He just wanted to prove he was smarter than everyone else. I don't think even _he_ believed half the nonsense he spouted. Who in their right mind could believe that we are descended from apes. Apes, of all things!"

"Science proves it," Isaiah said sturdily. "Face it, Gwen, religion is a thing of the past. It's … _Victorian_, something only people like Grandmother and Grandfather believe."

"Mother and Dad believe it," Gwen said. "And so do I."

He shrugged. "Fine. Just don't ask me to."

"Oh, but—"

Isaiah's eyes flashed with his dangerous look. "Tell you what, Gwen. I won't criticize you for believing something so stupid, and you won't try to convince me you're right. Deal?"

Dad always said you couldn't convince someone who didn't even want to believe. "Deal," Gwen said sadly. No wonder Isaiah hated everyone and everything! Why, if he couldn't even love God, how could he love anyone?

She resolved right then and there to pray faithfully for Isaiah to come to love God, even though she couldn't talk to him about it.

"Well," she said. "Even if you think all this only _happened_, you still have to admit it is amazing."

Isaiah looked around again, trying to see it through her eyes. "Maybe," he conceded.

And with that, Gwen had to be content.


	18. Chapter 18

The rest of the summer passed very pleasantly. Gwen's days were full to the brim … cooking and sewing with Aunt Ruth; exploring the region with Isaiah; keeping up with Grandfather's running schedule; staying out of Chloe's way; fishing with Jack, Phil, Oliver, and Van; dreaming with Grandmother; following the news from the Summer Olympics with passionate interest with Grandfather and Jo … and always, in whatever spare time she had, scribbling stories on hidden bits of paper.

She didn't have to hide them. Grandmother would have been delighted to know that Gwen was writing; in fact, she would have wanted to encourage and help her in every way. Which was exactly why Gwen kept her new love a secret from everyone but Isaiah and Phil. She didn't want help and encouragement. She wanted to explore this on her own, find out her own talents, without anyone else's interference, no matter how well meant it was.

She didn't mind sharing her running with Grandfather. He was almost as good a coach as Coach Flagg, and he was also wise enough to stick with the practical aspect of training, leaving Gwen's emotions and ideas out of it. Had he tried to pry into _how_ running made her feel, she would have shied away from his help like a nervous colt.

Grandmother, dear though she was, hadn't quite grasped the difference, for all her years and wisdom. Her type of interest in her grandchildren's lives just suited Lee, and some of the cousins, but made the other three Blake children nervous.

All too soon, harvest was in, August was ending, and the Blythe clan was having one final "shin-dig," as Owen inelegantly put it, before scattering to their various homes and schools. This was usually the time of year that the Blakes arrived on the Island—for one week of family fun before returning home to Kingsport. This year, it felt somewhat odd to Gwen that not only had they already been there all along, but they were staying, as well.

Odd, but nice, too. Nice to think about starting back at school in the Glen, though she was still a little nervous about meeting her former friends, the ones who abandoned her due to Chloe's rumours. Nice to think about getting back into training with Coach, not just Grandfather. Nice to think about picking apples and making cider and wearing sweaters and socks and curling up by Ingleside's fireplace, or making cookies with Aunt Ruth. Glen St. Mary had wound its way around Gwen's heart fairly thoroughly, she realized to her surprise, even with all the travails she'd endured here.

The one fly in her ointment was that there would be no visit from Uncle Jeremiah and Aunt Jenny this summer. Their vacation plans kept getting postponed, and postponed again (something to do with Uncle Jeremiah's business, according to Jeremy's disgruntled letters), and by the time the business matter was cleared up it was too late for them to come out.

"I know it's unfilial, but I can't help but be furious with Father," Jeremy wrote. "I'm attending the Kingsport Preparatory School for Young Men—Kingsport Prep—in a few weeks, and this was to be my last chance of freedom. My last chance to be a kid. Plus, of course, I wanted to see _you_. All of you, but especially you, Gwen. Do you realize, this is the longest we've been apart since we were born? I was born three months ahead of you, and ever since then we've never been apart for longer than a week or two. I'm sure the other fellows at Kingsport Prep will mock me for having a best friend who's a girl, but then, they've never met you.

"Patty and Rachel are upset, too, but of course Patty tries to look on the bright side, and Rachel is mostly moping about it on her own account, sure that Lee has come to like Leigh Blythe better after spending so much time with her and never seeing Rachel, so neither of them can really sympathize with me. I _know_ I'm still your best friend, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see you.

"At least … I am still your best friend, right, Gwen? Besides Phil, of course; I know I can't hold up against him. Your letters, though … they talk an awful lot about Jack, and that Oliver Grant, and Lynde Wilson, and you haven't mentioned Fanny Elliot for a while, but you used to mention her pretty often. Am I getting crowded out, since you haven't seen me?

"You've been quiet about other things this summer, too. You've told me all about cooking and sewing with Aunt Ruth, and running on Grandfather's regime, but you've said hardly anything about … well, anything else at all. You're being vague these days, and that's not like you. At least, it's not like the Gwen I used to know. Have you changed since you've been gone, Gwen? Please don't change. I know I rag you sometimes about being clumsy, and careless, and I probably tease you more than I should, but really, I honestly do like you just as you are. You're so perfectly _Gwen_.

"Which brings me full circle. I wanted to come to the Island to make sure you were still Gwen, and to make sure I was still first (after Phil) of your friends. Which latter part sounds selfish, now that I think about it, but then, you have no illusions about me, do you? You know I'm a selfish beast at times. Also over-protective, which is why I—if I'm being perfectly honest—really don't care for the sound of that Oliver fellow. I don't trust boys when I'm not there to make sure they aren't taking advantage of your good nature.

"Well. I'd better end before I make you utterly disgusted with me, and glad that I'm not there with you all. I do miss you, Gwen. I'm counting down the days until January, when you all come home. Even though I'll be at boarding school then, we'll still have vacations and weekends together!

"Always yours,

"Jeremy."

Gwen was in Rainbow Valley when she read this letter, and she smiled and sighed equally over the contents. "Oh, Jeremy," she said aloud. For a change, she happened to be all alone—Oliver and Phil were at Uncle Carl's doing something scientific. Jack and Van were off on their own. All of the Fords were visiting their over-harbour friends; Lee and Jo were playing with Leigh and Owen. Gwen went up to Ingleside to fetch her stationary and fountain pen, then made her way back down to the Valley to compose her reply to the boy who was still, despite their separation, her favourite cousin.

"Rainbow Valley, PEI

"August 25th, 1936

"Dear Jeremy,

"Where do I even begin, dearest (yes, my very dearest) of cousins? First: I am working on not being angry with your father, too! I know it's not his fault that the business is so demanding, but still. I have been looking forward ever since we left Kingsport to seeing you and your sisters! And your parents too, naturally. I was going to show you all my favourite spots—Rainbow Valley, of course (where I am right now); this little cove by the harbour where I go when I need to clear my head; Aunt Ruth's; the pond where we go fishing (Jack is better than I am, but not as good as you); the maple grove that is full of trees so ancient you'd swear they belonged in Sherwood Forest (and yes, I know those were mostly oaks, but still) … we could even get ice cream sodas at the pharmacy, because Mrs. Douglas has promised me free sodas for as long as I am here, and I'm sure she wouldn't charge you if you were with me.

"Why is that? Well, it's a long story, and the main reason I've been being vague in my letters home. I didn't want to get you worked up, or prejudice you against people here. Suffice to say that not _all_ family are friends, and some of them can tell quite believable stories. Ugly ones.

"But it's all straightened out now, so you needn't come charging in on your white horse to rescue me. You see, I know you! If I'd told you I was in distress you would have gotten here if you had to ride the rails and stow away on a freighter. And that would have just been silly, because I learned a lot about myself while things were difficult. I learned that I can live without most people's good opinion, as long as I have you and Phil and the rest of my immediate family. I learned that truth _always_ beats a lie, and that good always defeats evil. I've learned that people can surprise you, both for good and for bad.

"And I learned that I do have the Blake temper. Oh dear! I'm not entirely pleased about that, but it is good to know so that I can watch for it, and teach myself to control it. And it _did_ come in useful, I must admit.

"But, you see, none of my vagueness has anything to do with any nonsense about not liking you as much as I did before coming here. You're still my very best friend, Jeremy (next to Phil), and there's no one like you, not here, and not anywhere. Oliver's a good chum (and you mustn't worry about him, he's a perfect gentleman and would never take advantage of me, and I'm not _so_ naive as to let just anyone walk all over me); and Jack is just a step below you; and Fanny is just a school friend, really; and Lynde is a dear but spends most of her time 'bossing' me to death … so you should not worry about that.

"After all, a friendship like ours can't be injured by a separation, can it? It'll only grow stronger the longer we're apart.

"And I'm still your old Gwen, even if I am a runner now and a _little_ less clumsy. Grandmother and Aunt Ruth and Grandmother Meredith have all been helping me learn how to control my limbs, and sometimes even think before I speak. You won't mind if I change in _that_ way, surely?

"Give my love to the girls, and to your mother and father (even if I am still miffed at Uncle Jeremiah), and don't worry: January isn't so very far away.

"Always yours,

"Gwen."

"Am I interrupting anything, Gwen?"

As Gwen capped her pen, Oliver ducked under some low branches and dropped comfortably to a seat beside her.

"Not really," she answered. "Just finishing a letter to Jeremy."

He nodded, looking thoughtful. "You two really are like brother and sister, aren't you?"

"Better," Gwen answered. "Don't get me wrong, Phil's my very best friend in all the world, but Jeremy … well, there's just no one like him." She said this completely un-self-consciously, firm in her belief that her cousin was uniquely wonderful.

"Ah." Oliver's gaze dropped to his hands, and he twirled a blade of grass between his fingers slowly.

"Are you all done with the science what-not?" Gwen asked.

Oliver nodded again, not raising his eyes from the grass stem in his hand. "Phil and Dr. Meredith are still examining and arguing about things, but the official lesson is done."

"Do you think you've come far enough this summer to get your grades back where they should be when we start school again?"

Finally, Oliver grinned, and he let the grass slip between his fingers to drift on the light breeze. "I don't think anyone's ever had such determined tutors as I have. I wouldn't dare let my grades falter this year; Phil would never forgive me, and Dr. Meredith would probably come all the way back just to scold me!"

Gwen laughed. "Uncle Carl's too nice to scold anyone."

"Not when it comes to science," Oliver said.

Gwen remembered her uncle's stern countenance and quick condemnation of Phil when Isaac had accused him of destroying the precious specimens, his refusal to let Phil work with him any longer, not even giving Phil a second chance.

Mother always said people were more important than things. Gwen couldn't help but think that no matter how much Mother or Dad valued something, they would never let the destruction of it, even if it seemed like wanton destruction, so affect the way they treated a young man or woman.

"Gwen?"

Gwen realized that she was staring blankly into space as she thought all this out. "Sorry," she said in embarrassment. "Just thinking."

"So it seemed." Oliver seemed to guess what direction her thoughts had taken. "I'm impressed by what you've done with Isaiah."

"What do you mean?'

"He's like a different kid ever since you let him and Isaac have it. The twins haven't played any tricks on anybody, not even Owen, and I've only seen Isaiah lose his temper once. Considering that before, nobody ever saw him when he _wasn't_ in a temper … well, I'm sure Mrs. Ford wishes she knew your trick."

"Aunt Rilla doesn't even know half of what her children get up to," Gwen said impatiently. "She raised them all 'by the book,' and so naturally they are going to be just fine now. I heard her telling Aunt Persis that once, when the boys had done something truly terrible to Owen. She told Aunt Persis that Owen _must_ have exaggerated, and it was probably because Aunt Persis was never around, and he and Leigh had only gotten a haphazard training, and so were always looking for attention now."

Oliver winced. "What did your aunt say?"

Gwen grinned. "She saw me listening then, so not as much as I'm sure she wanted!"

Oliver laughed, then leaned back on his elbows to look up at the sky. "Almost September," he mused. "School will be starting soon, and then before you know it, winter will be here. And then you and your siblings will be back in Kingsport."

"Yes," Gwen agreed, wondering why he was bringing it up.

"I suppose you miss it?"

"Kingsport?" Gwen thought about it. "Aside from Jeremy and Patty and Rachel, not much. I miss Mother and Dad, of course, but honestly, I've really enjoyed my stay here at Ingleside."

Oliver twisted his head to look at her. "Even with all the fuss Chloe and the twins caused?"

"That wasn't fun," Gwen acknowledged. "But even with that. If we hadn't come to the Glen, I never would have met Coach Flagg and discovered I had a talent for something. Aunt Ruth and Lynde would never have taught me to cook and sew. I wouldn't have made the friends I have. I never would have learned about Joy."

"Who is Joy?" Oliver wanted to know, and so Gwen told him all about the baby who had only lived one day.

"She's still here, though," she finished. "Even though she never lived here at Ingleside. You can see her sometimes here in Rainbow Valley, along with all the other ghosts of the children who used to play here."

Oliver had spent enough time with Jack to not find such talk creepy or strange. "Just think," he said instead. "Maybe in another generation, there will be kids seeing _our_ ghosts here."

"I hope so," Gwen said dreamily. "I like to think that I've been here long enough to leave an imprint on this place."

"I should think so," Oliver said firmly. "You—all of you, I mean—are going to leave quite a hole here when you go back to Kingsport." He smiled wistfully. "We're going to miss you awfully."

Gwen, unsurprisingly, blushed. Was it her imagination, or did Oliver's voice have an extra shade of meaning to it? And why did he have to say such nice things now, when she was over her crush on him, instead of when it would have sent her swooning with happiness?

"Well," she said lightly, trying to cover her sudden turmoil. "We have many months before that happens. Let's not spoil today by thinking about tomorrow."

"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," Oliver agreed. He laughed at her startled look. "What? You thought you minister's kids were the only ones who knew certain Scriptures by heart?"

"Of course not," Gwen said, laughing as well. She was suddenly so very glad she had taken Mother's advice those months ago and tried treating Oliver only as a friend. He was, indeed, a very good friend, without any need for romance at all!


	19. Chapter 19

The first day back at the Glen High was extremely awkward for Gwen. With Jack and Phil flanking her, and Jack glaring at anyone who gave her a second glance, nobody dared be outwardly rude. Once the classes scattered, however, and Gwen was left a lonely sophomore, things became more difficult. To her relief, none of the boys approached her (she guessed they were probably all afraid of Jack), but the girls left her in no doubt of their opinion. Without ever saying a word, they snubbed her dreadfully.

She was relieved to finally get out to the playing field for track practice. Even if her other teammates ignored her, at least she would be able to run and forget about everything for a while.

Mary Crawford, a senior this year, greeted Gwen with her usual calm demeanour. She had spent the summer helping her father with his fishing, and so likely hadn't heard or paid any attention to the rumours. Jean, Katie, Betty, and the two new freshmen girls, Emmy and Dotty, all only glanced awkwardly at Gwen and then quickly began whispering to each other.

"Have a nice summer, Gwen?" Mary asked.

Gwen began lacing her shoes, hoping that bending over would account for the red in her cheeks. "Part of it. My aunt taught me how to make bread, finally. How was your summer?"

"Fair enough," Mary said. "We had a good haul this season. Dad is setting part of our profits aside every year for my schooling, and if we have another year next summer like this one, I should be able to go to college next fall. My winter work should help, too," she added. "I'll be helping Mrs. Blythe—your Aunt Persis—out at her new clinic whenever I'm not working with Dad."

Gwen marvelled at the effort and sacrifice Mary was putting into her schooling. "And what will you go to college for?"

"I want to become a veterinary, like your aunt," Mary said surprisingly. Her broad, placid brow remained unruffled as she continued, "I'd like to focus more on small animals, cats and dogs and the like, instead of the farm creatures that she spends most of her time tending. I've promised her, once I'm through my schooling, to come back and work with her. If I take care of the small animals, that will free her up to tend the big ones."

"I think that's wonderful," Gwen said enthusiastically. "I know Aunt Persis is terribly overworked these days, and I can only imagine that it will get worse. Knowing that you'll be coming along to help, and maybe even take over one day when she retires, will be a great comfort to her."

"Enough chattering, ladies," Coach said, coming up. "Time to warm up."

Mary's strength being the throwing, and Gwen's the running, the two girls were soon separated, and Gwen was left alone to face the coldness from the other girls. She thought she was handling it well, until Coach suddenly stopped their practice.

"What in heaven's sake is the problem with you girls? I expected there to be some slackness coming back from the summer, but you aren't even a _team_ anymore. What has gone on? Have you had a fight?"

They all glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, save Mary who just waited patiently.

"No fight, Coach," Jean finally said. She was the boldest of the team, the loudest, and usually their leader, even though she was only a sophomore like Gwen. Betty and Katie were juniors, while Mary was the lone senior.

"Well, whatever is wrong, get your heads back on the field," Coach snapped. "And will you all stop avoiding Gwen? Last I heard, she did not have the plague."

Gwen wondered how Coach could be so ignorant of the summer scandal, especially when her own sister was the Sunday School teacher Winnie had "sassed" so memorably, but then she remembered that Coach had been visiting family in the States for most of the summer, and so probably hadn't heard about anything.

She almost felt like she should explain to Coach about everything that happened, just so she didn't think the other girls were just being snobs, but at the thought of telling _Coach_, who thought she was a good enough runner to make it to the Olympics, about Chloe's lies, Gwen's heart quailed. Least said, soonest mended, she told herself, and hoped it was true.

Practice was still awkward, though, and at the end Coach threw up her hands. "What on earth? I can't make you girls out. Last year we practically had a championship team. I was sure this year, with some more experience under our belt, that we were going to be even better. Instead, you're all _worse_ than you were last year! Except for Mary," she added. "Gwen is tripping over her own feet again, and the rest of you are so busy staring at her and whispering to each other that you can't even pay attention to what you are supposed to be doing."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Again, Gwen felt that she should say something, but what? "It's not their fault, Coach, it's mine because my cousin told lies about me this summer?" That was just silly. It wasn't _her_ fault Chloe had made up stories and her teammates had believed them.

"They're all snobs who fell for a stupid story," didn't seem exactly right, either, though.

"It's just … there were all sorts of rumours flying about Gwen this summer," Jean shocked them all by speaking. "People were saying all sorts of things, that she was suspended from her old school for flirting and had to come here, that her parents had shipped her off here to try to get her straightened out, even …" she stopped and blushed.

"Even what?" Coach said sharply.

"Even that she came here to have a baby," Betty suddenly blurted.

It was hard to tell who turned redder, Betty or Gwen. For the first time, Gwen understood why Grandmother Meredith had made such an effort to stop the rumours. If they had gotten _this_ bad, even with Grandmother's chastisement of those doing the gossiping, imagine where they would have ended without her!

Coach further surprised them all by laughing. It was not an amused laugh; it was sarcastic and short. "And you all _believe_ that? Goodness, what a group of ninnies you are! Anyone can tell just by looking at Gwen that she's not that sort."

"But—" Jean started, but Coach didn't let her finish.

"Even if those stories were true, though, I don't care. You girls are a _team_. Do I really need to explain that to you? You stick by each other through thick and thin. You stand up for each other. You believe in each other. If everyone else is saying something against your teammate, you speak up for her. If your teammate does something wrong, you forgive her, even without her asking. If she needs you, you are there for her. You can't run together if you don't support each other."

By the end of her speech, Gwen was fighting back tears, and the other girls were staring sheepishly at the ground.

"Now," Coach concluded. "I am not kicking Gwen off the team for something she _clearly_ did not do. I am also not having a team that is fractured or divided against itself. So, any of you who still have problems with Gwen—or with anyone on this team—you are excused, and you may find yourself a new form of PE. Let me know tomorrow at practice if you still want to be part of this team or not. I am _not_ going to have another repeat of today's abysmal performances."

With that, she walked off, leaving the seven girls looking at each other without quite meeting each other's eyes.

"I think all this is nonsense," Mary said, breaking the silence. "When would Gwen have had time to have a baby? Everybody has seen her ever since she came to the Island, and she hadn't gained a bit of weight or anything." She smiled calmly. "I have no interest in leaving the team."

"I'm _sorry_, Gwen," Jean said in a rush. She was biting her lower lip, and looked close to tears. "I didn't really believe any of those things they were saying, but everyone was saying it, and I just wasn't sure. I don't want to leave the team, though. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course," Gwen answered automatically.

Betty and Katie rushed to ask for forgiveness, too, though they still wouldn't meet her eyes, and one of the new girls, Dotty, shyly apologized as well.

"You're Phil's sister, aren't you?" she asked immediately afterward. She blushed. "I sit next to him in botany. He's _brilliant_."

"Yes, he is," Gwen said, feeling much friendlier toward this pretty, dark-haired maiden who clearly recognized her brother's talents.

The other new girl, Emmy, slowly became aware that everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to say something. She raised her chin.

"What? I'm not going to apologize! And if Coach wants me to leave, she can kick me off herself. I certainly don't care about being part of a _team_. I just want to win."

With that, she walked off, her hips swinging haughtily.

"Never mind her," Jean sniffed. "She's a Drew." She stretched her arms above her head. "Say kids, who wants ice cream at Douglas'?" She grinned wickedly. "I hear Gwen gets free sodas."

Gwen laughed. "I'm not sure that Mrs. Douglas will treat _all_ of you, but even if she only does half we can all scrape together enough for all of us."

"Right," Mary said, draping her arm across Gwen's shoulders. "Because that's what a team does."

* * *

With the team behind her (Coach had no hesitation about taking Emmy Drew off the team, much to that girl's disdain), Gwen found school went a bit more smoothly. Phil's instant popularity in the freshman class ensured that most of those students accepted her, and with Jack, Oliver, Lynde, and Van Douglas supporting her in the other classes, most of the students shrugged their shoulders and let the rumours die … though many of them, to their dying day, believed there was something "fishy" about That Blake Girl.

The academic side of her classes went much better this year, too. Fuelled by a desire to not let Jack's good reputation with the teachers be damaged with her meagre efforts, Gwen put everything she had into studying. Phil was still helping Oliver with his science classes, and Gwen soon took to joining them for general study sessions. Before long, Jack was coming along as well, and with him came Van Douglas and Lucy, a starry-eyed freshman along with Phil this year.

Lynde was doubtful about the amount of studying they actually got done, judging by the amount of laughter that pealed from Rainbow Valley in the afternoons.

"And really, are fudge and cookies _absolutely_ necessary for studying?" she asked with asperity one day.

Jack grinned engagingly at her. "Chocolate is good for the brain, Lynde."

"You should join us," Phil added. "You'd be surprised at how much more you might enjoy school if you were part of our study group."

Lynde shook her head emphatically, her long brown braid swinging around with life of its own. "I wouldn't even be bothering with High School if your grandparents didn't insist on it," she said. "I just want to get through. I don't care about honours or college or anything like that."

In addition to their study group, soon nicknamed "The Owls" by Grandfather (for striving after wisdom, he explained, though Gwen suspected it had something to do with Lucy's adorable little round spectacles perched atop her wrinkled nose), Phil was part of the Science Club; Oliver was a member of the Debating Team; Gwen was acknowledged to be the star runner of the school; Jack was president of the junior class; Van was treasurer; and Lucy took great delight in joining the fledgling Drama Club. They were all very active in school, and for the most part, quite enjoyed it.

Phil had tried joining the boys' track and field team, but soon dropped out. "I just don't have any kind of competitive spirit," he said apologetically to Gwen. "If I see that another fellow is trailing me, I slow down so he can catch up, because all I can think about is how bad he will feel if he comes in last."

Gwen shook her head. "Oh, Phil."

He grinned. "That's all right. One star runner in the family is enough."

In truth, Gwen didn't mind that she was the only person in the family running. Never before had she done something that was all her own, that nobody close to her had done first or could do better.

There was her writing, of course, but she still hugged that secret jealously to her heart and refused to tell anyone about it. Several times, she was tempted to blurt it all out to Phil but it was still too new and uncertain. She kept her scribbled bits of paper stashed in her truck, 'way back in her wardrobe where no one would ever accidentally stumble on them. She enjoyed writing fairy stories the best, but of late she had been writing stronger stuff … tales with deeper meanings to them. She knew that they weren't very good (she was far better at the lighter fare), but they satisfied something in her soul that the fairy tales didn't.

Even her English teacher noticed the improvement in her papers, and complimented her in front of the entire class. Gwen had never felt so proud of anything before, not even when she won her first meet of the season!

Before the first snow fell, Gwen had brought Mary Crawford into the Owls, and that girl's common-sense practicality helped to balance the rest of them out. Gwen was happy to strengthen her friendship with Mary, who proved to have a fine sense of humour and zest for life behind her placid exterior.

From the uncertain beginning, this school year was looking to prove to be pretty fine after all, Gwen decided. She still felt a sting over Fanny's desertion, but she was happy enough with her loyal Owls to let it slide.

After all, better to have proof of Fanny's shallow character now, after just a few months friendship, rather than later, when they had perhaps been friends for years and years and Gwen really trusted her with all her secrets.

Not that that was terribly likely. The only people Gwen _really_ trusted with her secrets were Jeremy and Phil. They were, and always would remain, her very dearest friends.


	20. Chapter 20

Gwen was surprised, entering Rainbow Valley in the dusk one evening, to see Fanny Elliot there, lurking behind an old leafless maple.

"Jack's not here," she said without preamble, thinking there was no other reason for Fanny to be hanging around.

Fanny flushed and stepped out fully behind the tree. "I know," she said unhappily. "He doesn't ever talk to me anymore, anyway."

"Why not?" Gwen was genuinely curious. Jack was such a friendly fellow; she couldn't imagine why he would suddenly snub Fanny. Had he caught wind of her "crush" on him, and backed off so she wouldn't get the wrong impression?

"It's because of you," Fanny burst out.

"Me?"

"When that rumour started about you this summer, and I didn't say anything in your defence … he still hasn't forgiven me for that."

"He _told_ you that?"

Fanny shrugged. "Not in so many words. When I asked him after class one day, right after school started, if we were going to be in a study group again, he said he couldn't work with someone who abandoned her friends and believed lies about them."

Gwen felt mingled pride and exasperation. She was touched that Jack was so protective of her … but really, did he have to make it so obvious? Why couldn't he just let everything slide into the past? She wasn't bearing a grudge against Fanny, why should he?

She looked again at Fanny's miserable face. "Is that why you're here? To blame me for losing Jack's friendship? Because really, it's not my fault, and I can't do anything about it even if it was."

"No!" Fanny twisted her hands together so hard they were striped red and white. "I came to … to apologize. I never believed the stories, Gwen, not for a moment."

Gwen paused. Then: "Why didn't you say anything, then?"

"Because I was scared! If I started speaking up for you, then people might have started thinking bad things about me, too. You get to go home soon, but I have to live here. I was too afraid of what people would say about me." Fanny's expression was a combination of shame and defiance. "I know I'm a miserable coward. But Gwen, I really have missed you, and missed our friendship. Do you think you could ever forgive me enough to be my friend again?"

Gwen thought about it. She believed Fanny's explanation. It did not, however, make her friend's abandonment any easier. For a moment, she flashed back to those days when no one would speak to her, when girls, including Fanny, would cross the street to avoid meeting her eyes, and she burned with resentment. No, she wouldn't forgive Fanny! She was probably only asking so that she could get close to Jack again, anyway!

But then … if she pushed Fanny away now, wouldn't that mean that Chloe had triumphed, just a little? If her scheming could ruin a promising friendship, she would have won, no matter how much Gwen had lived down the rumours in other ways,

Fanny was a coward—a moral coward, if not a physical one. But she was also sweet and kind, and she had been Gwen's first girl friend there in the Glen. While Gwen didn't think it was quite possible to return to their old camaraderie, perhaps they could build a new friendship from its ashes, accepting each other's weaknesses without judgment.

"All right," she said slowly. "I forgive you."

Fanny surprised her then by burying her face in her hands and bursting into tears.

"What?" Gwen said in bewilderment. "I said I forgive you!"

"I know," Fanny wept. "You're so good, and I don't deserve you for my friend at all!"

Gwen couldn't help but laugh a little at that. "Maybe not," she conceded. "But I like you anyway."

Fanny wiped her eyes with her hanky and tried a tentative smile. "Really?"

"Really," Gwen said decisively. "I can't promise that Jack will forgive you, though. Holding grudges is a bit of a family trait."

Fanny shook her head. "I may be a coward, Gwen, but I would not stoop so low as to ask for your friendship just to get Jack back. If he forgives me ever, I will be delirious with joy, but even if he doesn't, I'm just happy to have you back."

"_Girls_," Jo muttered, strolling unexpectedly out from behind some bushes. Fanny jumped and shrieked, and Gwen posted her hands on her hips.

"Josiah Blake, what have you been told about spying on people?"

"I was here first," Jo protested. "It's not my fault you two were talking without bothering to look to see if anyone was around. If you don't want people hearing you, you should talk more quietly," he added severely. Then he grinned rakishly. "But I'm glad you didn't."

Fanny knelt down in front of him, her hands clasped to her chest. "Oh Jo, you won't say anything about this to Jack, will you?"

Jo started to speak, caught his sister's eye, and sighed. "No," he said. "I would ask you to give me something for keeping quiet, but Gwen wouldn't let me take it."

"I most certainly would not," Gwen said sternly. "It is not gentlemanly to distress a lady. And it's not Christian to blackmail anyone."

Jo stuck his chin out. "I'm a Christian _and_ a gentleman. Your secret is safe with me, Fanny."

She impulsively kissed his cheek. "Thank you! And just to show you how grateful I am, I will get you a box of chocolates tomorrow."

Jo glanced at Gwen, who rolled her eyes but nodded. "OK," he said cheerfully, and scampered off.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Gwen admonished Fanny.

The other girl got to her feet, brushing dirt and twigs off her skirt. "I'll give him a dozen boxes if only he keeps his mouth shut."

"Jo gave his word—that's the end of it," Gwen said flatly. "He said he wouldn't tell. You don't need to give him anything."

"Oh dear," Fanny mourned. "You are your siblings … you're _all_ good, and I just can't ever live up to you!"

"Well, for heaven's sake don't start treating us like saints," Gwen said in disgust. "That would just be horribly boring, and embarrassing to boot." She motioned with her head toward Ingleside. "Let's go up to the house and coax Lynde into helping us make cookies."

"OK," Fanny said, borrowing the boys' slang, and they laughed together as they walked to the house, friends again.

Lynde sniffed when she saw Fanny (like Jack, Lynde was no so quick to forget the way Glen people had treated Gwen over the summer), but she thawed out enough to lend Fanny her oldest, most stained apron, and then vanish into the pantry while the other two baked, where they could occasionally hear her muttered comments about their conversation.

"Are you excited about this season for running? You've done really well so far," Fanny said, cracking eggs efficiently.

Gwen shrugged as she measured flour. "I am, but it's hard, too. I know I won't be back in the spring, and sometimes I feel guilty about the amount of time Coach is spending with me in training."

_Lynde, audibly: "Some other people in this village ought to be feeling guilty, too, about Other Things."_

Fanny tried to look like she hadn't heard. "It's not like Miss Flagg doesn't know you aren't going to be back. If she's still choosing to work so hard with you, it must be because she thinks you're worth it, even if you're only here for another season."

"I suppose," Gwen said.

"Are you going to miss us, when you're back in Kingsport?" Fanny asked wistfully.

_"I wouldn't, after everything," Lynde announced to the baking supplies._

"Of course," Gwen answered, stifling a giggle as she added baking powder to the dry ingredients. "But I am longing to see Mother and Dad again."

"I don't suppose …" Fanny affected an unsuccessful indifferent air. "I don't suppose you've ever thought about staying?"

"Staying?" Gwen stared at her friend blankly. "What do you mean?"

_Lynde: "Yes, what?"_

Fanny shifted her feet uncomfortable and kept her eyes on the batter. "I just wondered. Your grandparents would love to have you stay, I know, and if you really have a chance, like Miss Flagg keeps saying, as making something of your running, I thought maybe you would ask your parents if you could finish up High School here in the Glen."

There was a startled silence as Gwen tried to absorb the idea. Lynde poked her head in from the pantry.

"Now there's sense, at last," she said.

"I couldn't do that," Gwen said firmly. "I couldn't be separated from everyone for that long."

"You'd still see them on holidays," Fanny persisted.

"You wouldn't want to throw away your chances at becoming an Olympic athlete, would you?" Lynde said, coming in to the kitchen all the way.

Gwen was still bewilderedly trying to make sense of it all when Grandmother, drawn more by the sound of young voices than the smell of cookies, entered. Fanny turned to her at once.

"Oh! Mrs. Blythe, won't you help us? Tell Gwen she should stay here to finish out High School, so she can get all the athletic training she needs, and so that we here won't lose her. You and Dr. Blythe wouldn't mind keeping her here, would you?"

Grandmother fixed her eyes on Gwen's face—still a very young face, despite her fifteen years. "Dr. Blythe and I always love to have any of our grandchildren stay with us, naturally. But I think that decision ought to be Gwen's, not ours."

"Why, it's not even a question, Grandmother," Gwen said. For just a moment, she had been dazzled by the idea of staying, of having more time with Jack and Oliver and Fanny and Lynde, of really making something of her running … but only a moment. "I couldn't possibly live without Mother and Dad, and Phil and Lee and Jo-Jo for that long. It's awfully sweet of you girls to want me to say, and terrifically kind to offer me a place, Grandmother, but it's simply out of the question. I just couldn't do it."

"Very well, then," Grandmother said promptly, and even with a hint of approval in her voice. She reached for an apron to tie around her own waist, silencing the protests of Fanny and Lynde, who were loath to let go their idea so quickly. "Do you girls mind if I join you? My cookies are never as good as Lynde's, but I do enjoy pretending I am fifteen again and having fun with my chums."

"Tell us about when you were fifteen, Grandmother," Gwen smiled.

"Oh goodness … can I even remember back that far?" Grandmother sat down on a stool and began to ice the cookies out of the oven. She smiled dreamily. "I was at Queen's College, still insisting to myself and everyone else that I hated Gilbert Blythe more than anyone on earth. I was planning on attending Redmond the next year, until Matthew Cuthbert died." Her face shadowed over. "In some ways, fifteen was the last year of my girlhood. I grew up rather quickly after that—though of course, I was still a girl in many ways."

Gwen shivered. She couldn't imagine what she would do if Dad died suddenly, and she was called to give up all her dreams, in the midst of her grief, and help support the family. She wondered if she was just weak, or if Grandmother was exceptionally strong.

"Tell us more about Mr. Cuthbert," Lynde suggested, rolling up her sleeves and filling the sink with water to wash the sticky bowls and spoons. "I've heard stories about Miss Cuthbert, of course, and about you and Dr. Blythe, and my own Lynde grandparents, but nobody ever says much of anything about Mr. Cuthbert."

"Most likely because he was so very, very quiet," Grandmother said, the shadow passing and her eyes brightening again. "He was painfully shy, but he had the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met, and oh, he was so very good to me. He was the first person to ever show me love, in all my life."

The girls fell silent then, musing on what Grandmother's childhood must have been like.

"Marilla loved me too, later," Grandmother hurried on to say. "But Matthew loved me from the first, even when I was a scrawny little red-headed chatterbox from Nova Scotia, not the boy they had requested, dressed in the most hideous wincey dress imaginable. Anyone else would have shipped me right back to the orphanage on the very next train, but not Matthew. And even after that, he always had time for me, always listened, always sympathized. I've told you girls about my brown gloria dress, haven't I?"

Gwen had heard the story, but Fanny and Lynde had not, and so Grandmother told it again, reliving that magical Christmas day when she had received the very first pretty dress she'd ever owned.

"I still love pretty clothes," she confessed, as though to a dark, shameful vice. "I know at my age I shouldn't be thinking of such worldly matters anymore, but I still feel a thrill every time I put on something beautiful."

"I know exactly what you mean," Gwen said, thinking of the lovely blue birthday dress from Aunt Jenny hanging in the wardrobe upstairs. She had only worn it a few times since March, but she felt like a completely different person from her usual self every time she put it on. Once in a while, she even felt _almost_ beautiful in it!


	21. Chapter 21

"I think," Gwen said dreamily, staring up at the azure sky, "Autumn is my very favourite out of all the seasons."

"I like summer the best," Owen said. "I like swimming, and wearing hardly any clothes."

"Owen!" his sister reproved him.

"Clothes are a nuisance, Leigh," he said. "They just get in the way of everything you want to do."

"Be thankful you aren't a girl, then," Leigh said. "We have to wear even more than you boys, no matter what the season."

"Oh, I am," Owen assured her. "I would hate to be a girl."

"What's your favourite season, Leigh?" Jack asked quickly.

"Winter," she said at once. "I like how quiet and peaceful it is."

Within moments, the other cousins rattled off their favourite seasons, too. Lee and Jack both favoured spring; Jo agreed with Owen about summer; and Phil said he liked parts of all of them.

"What about you, Uncle Shirley?" Gwen asked, not wanting him to feel left out.

Her uncle smiled over his shoulder as he drove the hay wagon on. "Oh, I'm with Phil, I suppose. There are things I like about each season, and things I don't like. An autumn day like this one is certainly hard to beat, I have to say."

It was, indeed. Uncle Shirley had borrowed one of his neighbours' hay wagons to take the cousins on an apple-picking expedition. There were plenty of orchards where they were welcome right in the Glen—the old Bryant homestead near the House of Dreams was famous for its fruit trees—but Uncle Shirley decided that "the kids" could use a real adventure, and so had gotten permission from an over-harbour farmer to pick as many apples as they wanted from his orchard.

"Strip it clean, for all I care," he said laconically. "I've already got all the apples I can use. Rather you take 'em than the local boys steal 'em."

There weren't many chances for apple-picking in Kingsport, so the four Blake children were especially interested. Jack, Owen and Leigh picked every year, but it was still one of their favourite parts of harvest.

"It doesn't feel like work, you see," Gwen overheard Owen explain confidentially to Jo, who nodded wisely.

Lee, with her long hair pulled into a neat braid (thanks to Lynde's nimble fingers) that curled at the end, was riding beside Uncle Shirley, beaming over the honour. Leigh was next to her, much calmer about it. Jo and Owen had their arms slung around each other's shoulders and were dangling their feet off the end of the wagon. Phil, Jack, and Gwen lay sprawled in the body of the wagon itself, watching the blue sky and the puffy white clouds overhead, enjoying a rare free Saturday with no homework or extra-curricular activities.

"It would have been fun to bring the Owls along," Jack said lazily, "But I think it's even more fun with just the cousins."

"We don't do much like this anymore, not now that school has begun," Phil agreed.

"Mmm," Gwen said, her eyes closing sleepily. She had been working very hard, between homework and track, and even with the jolting of the wagon over the rough roads, she thought she could doze off quite easily. The sun was shining warmly, even though the air was crisp and the leaves were a glorious cacophony of crimsons and golds, and in her navy sweater and grey tweed skirt Gwen felt snug and secure.

Phil began to tickle her ribs. "No sleep for you, Gwen! There is work ahead of us! Don't think you can slack off by taking a nap and leave all the hard labour to us!"

Gwen shrieked and laughed, coming fully awake and shying away from his merciless fingers.

"I'm awake! I'm awake!" she cried.

"Good," he said with a grin. "See to it that you stay that way."

"Cheeky blighter," Jack said with a laugh.

* * *

James Arnold was a good farmer, and a genial man, though he had no appreciation or understanding of any but practical matters. He liked Uncle Shirley for his quiet competence, and Aunt Persis for her animal skills, but he couldn't understand why they lived in a place with such a foolish little name. He stared in mute incomprehension as Jack paused in picking apples once in a while to scribble down a line or two of poetry, and when Jo started telling Lee a fairy story, he shook his head.

"Those kids are too old for such nonsense," he said gruffly to Uncle Shirley. "Why don't you tell them it isn't true?"

"Who says it isn't?" Uncle Shirley asked with his quiet smile, and Mr. Arnold shook his head again.

"You Blythes! You'd be a right match for my nephew, you would. Always wandering around with his head in the clouds, he is, and it's all I can do to keep him from infecting his sister with the same nonsense. His mother doesn't help, either."

"How is Mrs. Ahlberg?" Uncle Shirley asked. Gwen was nearby, and curiously stopped picking at the unusual name.

Mr. Arnold shrugged his massive shoulders. "The same. She'd get better if she just pulled up her bootstraps and tried, but she says she ain't got the energy left to try. She spends all day on that couch of hers, and she's training the little one to be just as lazy."

"Jem says that Anja has a delicate constitution," Uncle Shirley said.

Mr. Arnold grunted. "Well, we don't make her sleep outside in the rain and snow, do we? All I ask is that she and my sister help the missus out with some chores once in a while! It's not too much to expect, is it, after we took them in after that shiftless man of hers died?"

Uncle Shirley pinched his lips together in the same manner as Grandmother did occasionally, when she wanted to say too much, and went to stop Owen and Jo from eating more apples than they put in the basket.

Gwen began picking again, but slowly, her mind constructing a romance around the scrap of conversation she'd heard. Mrs. Ahlberg would be beautiful, with ivory skin and raven hair, dying of a broken heart after being abandoned by her handsome and selfish husband. The little girl—what had Uncle Shirley called her? Anna?—would have long, heavy gold curls, and big blue eyes, with overly-rosy cheeks, and _she_ was dying of consumption. The boy was small and slight, with his mother's black hair and the black eyes of his treacherous father, and he was trying to save his family, while his mother and uncle couldn't bear to look at him for his resemblance to the man who had broken his mother's heart …

"Hello."

Gwen jumped. She had been so lost in her fantasy that she hadn't even noticed a boy coming toward her.

"My uncle said to come give you folks a hand," he said. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Gwen said, studying him covertly. He did not at all resemble the romantic hero of her dream, and she decided that this was one story which would never make it onto paper.

This boy was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing mud-spattered overalls and a checked shirt. His hair was so light it shone almost white in the noon sun, and his eyes were the brightest blue Gwen had ever seen. He had large, capable hands with calluses on them, a friendly grin, and did not in any way appear someone with his head in the clouds. Gwen wondered if Mr. Arnold had another nephew somewhere.

"I'm Gwen," she said, recalling her manners. She held out her hand. "Gwen Blake."

He shook her hand in a straight-forward fashion. "Tryg Ahlberg."

"Tryg?" she asked, testing the odd sound on her tongue.

He laughed. "My dad's family was Norse. It's short for Trygve, which is even more impossible to pronounce."

"I like it," Gwen decided. "It's more interesting than most names."

"I like Gwen," he said, reaching up into the limbs of the tree and beginning to pluck. "It sounds like something out of an Arthurian legend. Hullo, Jack."

"How are you, Tryg?" Jack asked, ducking a low branch as he came around the trunk. "Didn't see you much this summer."

"I was working odd jobs as much as possible," Tryg said. "Setting money aside for Anja's school. My little sister Anja has the voice of an angel," he explained to Gwen. "Uncle doesn't see the need for her to have an education beyond High School, so I'm saving up what I can now to send her to a music school when she's older."

"I see," Gwen said, impressed with his dedication. "How old is she now?"

"Nine," he said. "Which is good, because it gives me plenty of time to save!"

"Hullo, Tryg!" Owen shouted, spotting the older boy. He came racing over, Jo in pursuit. "Where's Balder?"

"Oh, he's around," Tryg said, waving a hand. "You're welcome to go find him."

"C'mon, Jo," Owen said at once, and the two boys vanished.

"So much for getting any more work out of them," Jack commented.

Gwen laughed. "Who's Balder?"

"My dog," Tryg said. He grinned deprecatingly. "I'm a bit of a nut about legends and mythologies, especially the Norse ones. Balder was the fairest god in Norse mythology."

"'Balder their joy, so bright, so loved a god,'" Jack quoted. "It's a poem," he said to Gwen.

"Let me guess," she said. "Balder the dog is … a golden retriever?"

"Right in one," Tryg said approvingly. "If he'd been a black lab I would have named him Hoder, who was Balder's brother and god of the night." He looked around and saw his uncle and Uncle Shirley approaching. "Shh," he cautioned. "Uncle doesn't like to hear me talking about myths and the like. He thinks they're nonsense, only fit for babies."

Jack snorted, and Gwen burned with indignation, but they obediently talked about other matters while the men were near.

Gwen found out that Tryg was a senior, attending the over-harbour school, which was how she'd never met him before.

"What are your plans for after High School?" she asked.

Some of the brightness in his face dimmed over, but he answered cheerfully enough. "Stay here and work on the farm, of course. Uncle has promised that as long as I work with him, he will take the money he would have spent on hiring a hand and put it toward Anja's schooling, even though he thinks it foolishness."

"That's right, my boy," Mr. Arnold said approvingly. "A fair trade."

It wasn't fair at all, Gwen wanted to say indignantly. Tryg was young, and obviously not a farmer at heart. Why should he have to sacrifice his dreams just because his uncle was too mean to pay for school?

Still, she did have to admit, for a man who didn't believe in higher education at all, even to agree to a bargain like that was something. Many men, she knew, would have just made their nephew work for them and never bothered with wages. Had she heard about such an accommodation in the abstract, she might very well have approved of it. Seeing Tryg in person, though, it seemed horribly cruel.

They spent the rest of the day picking, and then Uncle Shirley said they really ought to be getting back. Mr. Arnold invited them to stay for supper, but Uncle Shirley explained that Lynde was waiting for them.

"Say, Uncle Shirley, can't Tryg come back to supper with us, since he did as much work as we did with the apples?" Jack suggested.

Uncle Shirley was willing, but Mr. Arnold shook his head. "Tryg's got chores to do here. Sorry, lad."

Jack shrugged, disappointed, and Gwen was sorry as well. She would have liked the chance to get to know this hard-working, interesting boy a bit better.

"Oh, Jack," Tryg said right before they left. "I've got those poems you were asking about last spring—the ones about the Norse gods? I found them for a song at an old bookstore out in Camden. Do you still want to borrow them?"

"You bet," Jack said with alacrity, springing out of the wagon. He paused right before following Tryg into the house. "Coming, Gwen?"

She followed him without question; into the house; past the kitchen with the pinched, sour-faced woman bending over the stove; past the parlour with a small, sweet lady with greying hair and faded blue eyes lying on the sofa (so much for the raven-haired beauty with the broken heart!); up the stairs; up _another_ flight of stairs; and into the garret.

"This is where I keep my junk," Tryg explained. Gwen looked curiously at the piles and stacks of books, the papers everywhere, the pens and pencils scattered over an old desk. She moved closer to the desk while Tryg rooted through one stack of books to find the poetry for Jack.

The topmost piece of paper on the desk contained a simple image of an old ship with a carved dragon's head on the front. A lone man (even Gwen could tell he was a Viking by the horns on his helmet) stood aboard the ship, one hand grasping the lines, gazing out over the rolling sea with a sad and stern expression. His face was Tryg's.

"Did you draw this?" she asked in astonishment, marvelling at the exquisite detail and life of the piece.

He actually blushed. "Oh—that. That's just a bit of nonsense." He moved to crumple it up, but Jack snatched it up before he could.

"That's amazing," Jack said bluntly, studying it. "You have a real gift, my friend. It would be a crime to waste it, you know."

"Can't be helped," Tryg shrugged. "There's no way I can make enough for both Anja and me to go to college. Besides, I couldn't leave Mother behind."

"So instead you'll be a farmer all your life?"

Tryg raised his chin at the harsh note in Jack's question. "It's a noble life, isn't it?"

"Sure, but it's not _you_. You're an artist, my friend. It would be like asking me to be a doctor like Dad, or expecting Gwen here to be content to settle down as a housewife. It doesn't matter how noble a career or life it is, if it isn't you."

"Can't be helped," Tryg said again. "We don't all get to choose the path we take."

"Yes, we can," Jack said earnestly.

He would have said more, but Owen hollered up the stairs then that Lynde would tan their hides if they ruined her dinner by being late, and they had to leave, Jack shaking his head the entire way.

"It's a waste," he said, just once, on the way home. Phil looked at him curiously, but didn't ask any questions.

"Isn't there anything we can do to help him?" Gwen asked, already scheming.

"He wouldn't take help if we offered," Jack said bitterly. "He's got pride as well as ambition, and a sense of duty that would choke most fellows. Catch me giving up my dreams like that!"

"You would," Gwen said softly. "If you had to."

Jack's anger softened and he gave her a sheepish look. "I know. I think that's what bothers me, though—that I don't have to. Why do I get to be Dr. Blythe's son, with all the privileges, and not Tryg? What did he ever do to deserve wasting away there on his uncle's farm?"

"Maybe it isn't a waste," Uncle Shirley said over his shoulder. "We don't know all of God's ways, Jack. All we can do is trust they are perfect."

"But what if they aren't?" Jack said, and not even Phil said anything about such a heretical question.

They all knew how he felt.

That night, before going to bed, Gwen started work on an outline for a new story. This one wasn't going to be a fairy story. This was going to be about a young Norseman working his family farm, dreaming of joining the Vikings, until one day the god Balder gave him a special quest to carry out alone accompanied only by his faithful hound (or whatever dogs they had in those days). If he succeeded, he would become a Viking; if he failed, he would spend the rest of his days drudging on the farm. Of course the hero would succeed, and win glory and fame for himself.

His name was Trygve.


	22. Chapter 22

Grandmother and Grandfather intercepted Gwen as they all left the dinner table one evening in early November.

"What have I done?" she asked, looking guiltily at their solemn faces. She racked her brains to try to think of anything terribly heinous she might have done, but nothing came to mind.

"Not a thing, so far as we know," Grandfather said laughingly. "We just want to talk to you. Come into the parlour?"

"Do I need to come, too?" Phil asked immediately.

"Or me? Jo added hopefully.

Grandfather shook his head at them. "Sorry, lads. Gwen only."

"Don't worry," Gwen heard Jo tell Phil as she trailed after her grandparents into the parlour. "Gwen will tell us all about it afterward."

Grandmother sat down in her special wing-backed chair and folded her hands in her lap. Grandfather sat in _his_ chair across from her and looked intently at Gwen. Gwen herself sat down on the rug by the fireplace, being very careful to stay away from Gog and Magog, and the fire irons, and anything else she might knock over.

"What is it?" she asked finally, unnerved by the long silence. A sudden pang struck her. "It's not—nothing has happened to Mother and Dad, has it? You're not telling me first so I can break it to the others?"

"No, no," Grandmother exclaimed. "Nothing like that, dearest. No, it's just—oh dear, I don't know how to put this without making it sound wrong. Gilbert?"

Grandfather took over. "You see, Gwen, when your friend Fanny suggested that you stay here to finish out High School, it wasn't the first time I had thought of it. I hadn't said anything to anyone, even your grandmother, because I wasn't sure if it was just me being selfish, wanting to keep at least one of you kids here longer, but when she told me about Fanny bringing it up, I broke down and confessed that I'd been thinking the same thing."

"We don't want to put any pressure on you, Gwen," Grandmother said. "We know that you would miss your brothers and sister dreadfully. But Coach Flagg really does think you have a future ahead of you as a runner, and your other teachers all say your grades have improved remarkably from when you first came here last year. I know Kingsport is a big city, and the Glen only a small village, but our High School really is one of the finest on the Island."

"I know that," Gwen said, feeling a little dazed. "The classes are all much harder, but much better explained here, than in my school back home."

"Then too, there's Jack and Oliver and the rest of the Owls, and Fanny and Lynde, and we know how hard it is on young people, especially your age, to make new friends and then lose them."

"In short," Grandfather said, "We'd like to write to your parents and ask them what they think of all this, but we don't want you to feel that we're going behind your back in any way. Would you consider staying with us for the next two and a half years, until you graduate?"

"Or at least," Grandmother added quickly, "consider thinking about it, and asking your parents' for their opinion?"

"I'll consider it," Gwen said slowly. "And of course you may ask Mother and Dad. But I have to tell you, right now I don't think I'll ever be willing to be away from the rest of the family for that long."

"That's fine," Grandmother said at once.

"Just think about it," Grandfather added. "After all, you don't want to sacrifice your future just for fear of being a little homesick."

"Now Gilbert," Grandmother reproved gently, "We promised each other we wouldn't try to influence her."

Grandfather looked abashed, and Gwen rose unsteadily to her feet. She crossed the room to pat her grandfather's shoulder. "No, it's good. Sometimes I need someone to remind me of all points of view, not just mine." She paused for a moment. "Do you mind if I go outside for a bit? I know it's dark, but I promise I won't go beyond Rainbow Valley. I just think the fresh air will help me think."

"Of course," Grandmother said. "Make sure you're back in an hour, please. You do still have homework tonight, you know."

Gwen smiled. "I know."

* * *

Rainbow Valley, so many people had said, was magical in the moonlight. Tonight, Gwen didn't see any magic in it at all. It was an ordinary, pleasant valley with many old trees and a frozen brook, and a weary old moon shining overhead. She was glad. Magic might have distracted her, and she needed to have clear wits for thinking this through.

She pulled her coat a little tighter around her, pulled her knitted tam down over her ears, and began a brisk circuit of the valley.

Could she stay? Would she stay? _Should_ she stay? It was all very well and good to say that she couldn't bear to be separated from her family for two and a half years, but …

She thought of Mary, working every spare moment so she could further her education. She thought of Trygve, sacrificing his dreams so his sister could achieve hers. She thought of Jack's bitter lament over why they were so blessed when others who had just as great of dreams or greater were left behind.

Could she, being offered this chance, really turn it down? Kingsport High was a decent school, true. To a student like Jeremy or Phil, who were naturally smart and could usually go beyond what was taught, it would not be a hindrance for going off to college after graduation.

For someone like Gwen, who needed her teachers, who struggled with concepts and theories, who was not naturally bright, it was the worst possible school. She knew that. She had slipped through the cracks in every grade already, only passing with the help of her cousins, brother, and parents. It would only get worse the further along she went.

She wasn't concerned about leaving her friends. Either her friends or her family, she would have to leave one behind.

No, it was the concern over whether she would be wasting her chance at further education, at fulfilling this new dream of running, if she went home.

On the other hand, would it be selfish of her to stay when everyone else went back? Didn't Phil and Lee and Jo deserve a better school, too? Could she really leave Mother and Dad without the love and support and help of their oldest child? If she accepted Grandmother and Grandfather's offer, would she be indulging herself to the detriment of her family?

Her allotted hour passed long before she had come to a conclusion. She reluctantly turned her steps back to Ingleside. Maybe Mother and Dad would just say "no" and spare her the difficulty of deciding.

In any case, she supposed she ought to pray about it. That's what Dad would tell her, before anything else, and he was usually—if not always—right.

"Ho, fellow Night Owl!" a laughing voice greeted her. Gwen's confused thoughts cleared, and she smiled at Oliver.

"What are you doing here so late?"

"I'm here to see you," he said. Gwen's heart gave a weak flip, but she felt nothing like the wild jolt of excitement she would have had he said something like that last spring.

"Why?"

"Before I answer that, will you tell me what you're doing out, wandering alone on an icy November night?"

"Thinking," Gwen told him, and because she saw no reason not to, she told him about Grandmother and Grandfather's offer. To her surprise, his face lit up with such intense joy that she could see it even in the pale moonlight.

"Really? That's wonderful! You'll accept, naturally."

"I haven't decided yet," she said, taken aback by his assumption.

"Oh, but Gwen, you must. What's in Kingsport, after all?"

"My family," she reminded him, a little nettled by his blithe dismissal of her home.

"Well yes, naturally, but you have family here, too. And friends, and we'd all be lost if you went back."

"Really?"

"The Owls wouldn't be the same," he declared.

"Well," Gwen said, trying not to show how flustered she felt, "I still have to think about it."

Oliver grasped her mittened hands in his own, his dark eyes burning. "Don't think about it, Gwen. Just _stay_."

She pulled her hands out of his clasp, feeling both uncomfortable and unaccountably annoyed. "Anyway, why were you here to see me?"

He allowed the change in subject. "Being the principal's son gives me an inside look at all the school happenings, so I heard before any of the other students that there's going to be a Midwinter's Dance in December, open to all classes and held in the Town Hall." He glanced at her sidelong, suddenly shy. "So I wanted to ask you if you'd go with me, before any other boy had a chance to ask."

"Oh," Gwen said flatly. Half a year ago, she would have been beside herself with joy at such a question. Now … she was flattered, certainly, and pleased, and also nervous and uncomfortable. In some ways, she preferred Oliver as a dream crush to a real-life, flesh-and-blood suitor.

Then she got a grip on herself. What was to say he really was a suitor? He was probably only asking her because they were friends, not because he had any special feelings for her. Although his excitement at the thought of her staying beyond the end of this year did seem more than just friendly …

At any rate, he had asked, and she couldn't keep standing there silently. She wouldn't hurt his feelings for anything, and, she told herself sensibly, she couldn't be certain if she would ever like him as more than a friend in real life if she didn't give it a chance.

She smiled. "Of course I'll go with you," she said. "Just don't expect much from me. I've never been to a dance before, so I won't know what to do. I'm not a very good dancer at all, I'm afraid."

"Neither am I," he confessed. "So we'll be a good match."

They had reached Ingleside by now, and Gwen motioned to the lighted house. "Won't you come in?"

Oliver shook his head. "No, I have homework, and I'm sure you do, too. I just came to ask you about the dance." He smiled shyly at her. "I'll see you tomorrow at school."

"See you then," Gwen agreed, and managed to find her way up the steps and into the house without tripping and falling on her nose.

"What happened to _you_?" Phil asked, stopping on his way through the hall.

"Oliver just asked me to the Midwinter Dance," Gwen answered automatically.

Grandfather was standing behind Phil. He whistled and shook his head mournfully. "It's happening again," he said. "I've got another heartbreaker on my hands."

"Oh Grandfather," Gwen said. "Oliver and I are just friends."

Jo popped his head around the corner and snorted. "_Sure_ you are," he said, and vanished again.

"Oh dear," Gwen said helplessly.

"What's the problem?" Phil asked calmly. "I thought you liked Oliver?"

Thankfully, Grandfather had moved on as well by then, so Gwen could answer freely. "I did," she said, "But then this summer happened, and now … I don't know. I don't want to hurt his feelings if he does like me, but I don't want to be a _flirt_ and give him the wrong impression."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Phil said. "Like you said, you're just friends, and as long as you make it perfectly clear that that's all you want, if he gets hurt it'll be his own fault. Besides, who knows? You might decide you do like him, again, after all?"

It was so like her own thoughts on the matter that Gwen had to laugh. "You're right, of course, Phil. But oh, I wish it were easier to grow up!"


	23. Chapter 23

The theme of the dance, so the students of the Glen High were told, was "1910," the year the recently departed British monarch King George V took the throne. It was, so Mr. Grant told them, in honour of him.

"Probably because of all the scandal surrounding King Edward right now," Jack suggested cynically after school.

Gwen looked troubled, and the other Owls nodded. All of them were familiar with the difficulties in England right now surrounding King Edward's desire to marry American divorcee Mrs. Simpson.

"Why anyone would want to marry a American is beyond me," Van said. "Much less one like that hussy."

Mrs. Douglas' views on Mrs. Simpson were common knowledge throughout the Glen; Van's opinion was mild in comparison.

"Do you really think he'll abdicate so he can marry her?" Gwen asked of anyone in the group.

Mary nodded. "I think it is almost a given by now."

"Best thing for everyone, if you ask me," Jack said. "Everyone knows the king is pro-German. England and all of us are better off without him."

"So long as the new king is different," Phil said.

"He will be," Mary asserted. "Why, even our Prime Minister considered him for Governor General! He _has_ to make a good king, if he was considered good enough for Canada." Her eyes began to sparkle. "Just think, Prince Albert has two daughters, which means that if King Edward _does_ abdicate and Prince Albert ascend the throne, for the first time in ages there will be a female heir to the throne of England!"

"The first since Queen Victoria," Lucy added, history being her pet subject. She beamed. "Imagine!"

"What are you all talking about?" Fanny asked, joining them. Fanny was not a member of the Owls, though Gwen would have welcomed her in. Jack was still cool toward her, and Fanny herself didn't seem to like Mary very much. She often hung around them, though, and Gwen hoped that gradually she would ease her way into the group.

"The dance," Lucy said breathlessly. "Oh Fanny, isn't it exciting that _all_ classes can go, not just the upperclassmen? Freshmen _never_ get dances."

"You wouldn't have gotten this one if Mother had had her way," Van reminded her. "She thinks fourteen is far too young for dances."

Lucy tossed her fair head. "Thank goodness Father has more sense."

"Do you all have dates yet?" Fanny asked, trying not to sound too eager.

"Gwen is going with me," Oliver said, quietly proud.

"And I'm taking Lucy," Phil said. The only way Mrs. Douglas had agreed to let Lucy go to the dance was if she was escorted by somebody absolutely trustworthy. The Glen boys that Mrs. Douglas considered trustworthy were few and far between, and Lucy had been in despair until Phil came to her rescue. Even Mrs. Douglas couldn't think up anything wrong about Phil.

Gwen knew that Phil would rather have gone alone, or even stayed home, but she was proud of his chivalrous gesture toward sweet Lucy.

"The rest of us are fancy free at the moment," Van said. "You?"

Fanny shook her head and couldn't keep her eyes from straying to Jack. "No, I haven't decided to go with anyone yet."

"Well, I'll take you," Van said promptly. Only Gwen noticed the disappointment on Fanny's face.

"Thank you," she said slowly.

"I'm going alone," Mary said. "Most boys bore me." She grinned at the male Owls. "Except you all, of course."

"Well, I would go with you, but I've already asked Lynde," Jack said, grinning back. "She told me this morning that Grandfather is insisting she attend, so I told her we could go together in hopes that she wouldn't be too terribly bored."

"That's our Jack, always a gentleman," Oliver said, slapping him on the back. The boys wandered off, and Gwen smiled sympathetically at Fanny before following them. She was due at Aunt Ruth's for tea and sewing, or she would have lingered to talk with her friend.

Mother and Aunt Nan had been fourteen in 1910, and some of their old party dresses were still packed away neatly in Ingleside's garret. As soon as Grandmother had heard the theme for the dance, she had pulled some of them out for Gwen, and Aunt Ruth promised to help her adapt them.

"I don't know why I saved these for so long," Grandmother said, "But I'm glad now that I did!"

Aunt Nan had been small and dainty at fourteen (and still was at forty), but Mother had been built like Gwen: long and lanky. Gwen chose three dresses for Aunt Ruth's inspection, unable to settle on just one.

"Well, I like the blue lawn, I think it's a perfect match for your eyes, but I'm afraid it is a summer dress, just not fit for winter frivolities," Aunt Ruth said, sighing over the tiny tucks and perfect stitches.

"I was afraid of that," Gwen confessed. "What do you think of the canary-coloured silk?" She liked that one herself—even after twenty-odd years in storage, it was still cheerful and bright, and she loved the little bows on it.

Aunt Ruth pursed her lips and shook her head. "It is lovely—and I'm sure it looked stunning with your mother's colouring—but neither the colour nor style are quite right for you, Gwen."

"Grandmother said that blondes shouldn't wear yellow," Gwen said glumly.

"Some shades of yellow would look darling on you," Aunt Ruth corrected. "A soft buttery shade, for example. But this is too bright, and the style is a _little_ fussy for you. No, I think the winner is this white wool."

"It's so plain," Gwen objected. She had only brought it because she thought the wool might be the most practical.

"That's what makes it so spectacular," Aunt Ruth said. "Look at these stitches! And the pure lines! Look at the gold trim just bringing out the stunning simplicity of it! If you wear this, Gwen, you'll be the belle of the ball."

"If you say so," Gwen said doubtfully.

"I do," Aunt Ruth said decisively. "Let's try it on you, and see what we have to do to it."

"Will I have to wear a corset?" Gwen asked.

"Oh goodness, no," Aunt Ruth reassured her. "Undergarments were much more practical in your mother's day than in your grandmother's, and from all I've heard, Mrs. Blythe never believed in corsets anyway. The doctor said they were unhealthy and refused to allow one in the house."

"Sensible of Grandfather," Gwen laughed.

"You will have to have something with some stiffness under the dress, something to help define your figure, but nothing to crunch your ribs," Aunt Ruth concluded.

Gwen raised her arms, and Aunt Ruth dropped the dress over her head and helped it settle into place. Then she stepped back.

"Oh my," she said softly.

"What?" Gwen asked in alarm.

Aunt Ruth shook her head. "Turn around and look in the mirror," was all she would say.

Gwen turned slowly.

Staring out at her from the mirror was a beautiful woman. There was no other way to describe it. The dress's pure, floating lines, the elbow-length sleeves, the gently rounded bodice … all served to emphasize Gwen's willowy figure and the angles in her face. Her eyes looked startlingly blue above the white wool, and her hair was almost the exact colour of the gold trim around her neck, elbows, and hem.

"Oh," she said weakly.

"You were born into the wrong generation, my dear," Aunt Ruth said.

Gwen shook her head, but the reflection remained just as lovely. "They say Grandmother Blake was a stunning beauty in her day," she said vaguely.

"Well, I think you may be growing into that inheritance of beauty," Aunt Ruth said. She circled Gwen slowly. "Goodness, this needs barely any alterations, either! You are built exactly like your mother, my dear."

"What are we going to do about my hair?" Gwen asked, touching the still-short, straight locks.

"A curling iron, a few strategic pins, and a gold band around your head will work wonders," Aunt Ruth said. She smiled, looking like a girl again herself. "This dance, my dear, is going to be your night to shine!"

Part of Gwen liked the sound of that … but the other part of her was nervous. Really, she preferred being in the background while the other girls shone.

With any luck, though, some of the other girls would find dresses just as magical, and she would be only one among many.

* * *

From the chatter around the school in the following weeks before the dance, it did indeed seem that many of the girls had found the perfect dress from raiding their mothers' wardrobes. Even Lynde got into the spirit of things after Aunt Faith offered to lend her a stunning rose-coloured silk.

"I was saving it for the daughter Jack wasn't," she laughed. "But I'd rather you have it anyway, Lynde."

Fanny was going to wear a crimson gown that had been her mother's, determined that if she couldn't go with Jack, she'd at least make him notice her. Mary's mother had never had much time for nonsense like dances, but Aunt Persis did some scrounging amongst her discarded finery of the pre-war years and came up with a lovely smoke-blue wool.

"It was always too boring for me," she confessed with a wrinkled nose. "Goodness, how vain I was!"

Lucy was too large for her mother's clothing, taking after her father more in build as well as temperament, but Mrs. Douglas found from somewhere in the dry goods storeroom a stunning piece of kelly green satin, which she bullied Miss Martin, the town dressmaker, into making up for Lucy.

All the girls were buzzing over the dance, and many of the boys were just as excited.

"Don't you usually have dances during the school year?" Gwen asked Fanny.

"Not that include the freshmen and sophomores," Fanny explained. "Usually only the juniors and seniors get to go. And with the economy being so poor these last few years, even their dances haven't been anything much. That's why the planning committee decided to make this a costume dance, so that people could wear their parents' old clothes and nobody had to try to pay for a new frock."

"Except for Lucy Douglas," Gwen laughed.

"Except for her," Fanny agreed.

A few days before the dance, King Edward did indeed abdicate with the statement: "I have found it impossible to carry the heavy burden of responsibility and to discharge my duties as king as I would wish to do without the help and support of the woman I love."

Grandfather, listening to this on the radio in the company of many of the aunts, uncles, and cousins, snorted loudly. "That's just a fancy way of saying that if he can't play by his own rules, he's taking his toys and going home."

"Well, well," Uncle Shirley said peaceably. "All's well that ends well. England gets a king who cares for her, and Edward gets his Mrs. Simpson." He raised his glass. "Here's to Prince Albert, soon-to-be King George VI."

"Hear, hear," Uncle Bruce said gravely.

"And here's to Princess Elizabeth, now the heiress presumptive," Aunt Faith said with flashing eyes.

"Hear, hear!" Gwen, Aunt Persis, and Aunt Ruth chimed in unison.

"Oh, these suffragettes," Uncle Jem laughed.

"You are behind the times, my dear," Aunt Faith informed him. "We haven't been suffragettes since before the war!"

"And now with a new king on the throne, pray God we will be prevented another war," Grandmother murmured from her chair in the corner.

"Amen," Uncle Shirley said after a pause. Gwen noticed that Uncle Bruce, however, looked pensive, and without knowing why her heart plummeted just a little.

Grandfather reached over and switched off the radio. "No need to listen to any more of that nonsense."

"Do you suppose they'll cancel the dance now?" Phil asked Gwen hopefully on their way upstairs to bed.

Gwen considered it, surprised to find that she was somewhat in favour of the idea herself, despite her beautiful white dress. "No," she conceded reluctantly. "They might even say that it is in honour of the new king, now!"

Phil sighed deeply. "I was afraid of that. Goodnight, Gwen."

"Goodnight," Gwen said sympathetically, and they parted for their own rooms.

Changing into her pyjamas, Gwen wandered over to the desk while she brushed her hair, mulling over some details of her Viking story. It wasn't coming together very well—for one thing, she knew nothing about the Vikings. For another, she was discovering that it wasn't very easy to write a story with the hero as a real person. Her fictional Trygve kept doing and saying things that worked very well for his character, but that would sound ridiculous from the real Tryg's mouth, and then she would laugh and break her own concentration. She was starting to think she should scrap the entire thing and start a new story, one that was completely fictional, not based on anything or anyone she knew.

Thinking all this out, Gwen glanced down to see an envelope sitting atop her papers on the desktop. Lynde must have brought it up earlier, while Gwen was out studying with the Owls. She recognized the handwriting and the distinctive India postmark, and her heartbeat picked up a little.

It was Mother's response to Grandmother and Grandfather's proposal for Gwen to stay.

Gwen held the envelope in her hand for a long time before she dared open it. What would Mother say? Would she be upset, disappointed in Gwen? What if she encouraged Gwen to stay? What if she refused? What did Gwen want, really?

She didn't know at all.


	24. Chapter 24

"Dearest Gwen,

"I might as well jump right in to the main point here. I can't say your father and I were shocked when we received your grandparents' letter, but neither had we been expecting it. Rather, it was one of those moments where we said: 'Oh of course, naturally, why didn't that occur to us?' Not that we should have thought of you staying in the Glen while the rest of us returned to Kingsport, but we should have realized that your grandparents would think of it.

"Now, dear daughter, I am certain that by now you are hoping your dear old mum and dad will write and say: Do This or Do That. But I'm afraid we can't. You are fifteen and a half now, Gwen, and old enough to decide for yourself what you want. If you decide that it is important to you to stay, we will support you. If you decide you want to come back to Kingsport with us, we will support that, too. It has to be your choice, though. I don't want, later on in life, you to look back and resent us for choosing one or the other for you.

"Your father wants to lay out all the pros and cons for you—the benefits of staying vs. the benefits of going back, and the negative aspects of both. I talked him out of it, though. As much as I would like to help you write out a list for this, I am afraid that my own opinion might influence it one way or the other. And your father—well, I know how much you adore him, and if you even get a hint of what he wants, I know that my sweet Gwen will at once decide that's what she wants, as well.

"So I am afraid this one is all up to you, Gwen darling. Know this, though—it is the most important thing I will write to you in this entire letter: No matter what you choose, your father and I love you very much, and are very proud of you. Always.

"Forever and ever, your loving,

"Mum."

Gwen put the letter down with a sigh. She should have known that was what Mother would say. She ought to have expected that this wouldn't just be simple and straightforward. She was going to gave to figure it out all on her own.

Her father's suggestion of a list of pros and cons sounded like a good idea. Not tonight, though. She was too tired to do anything more tonight. England was without a king, Gwen was finding her own way in the dark, and she was exhausted.

Without hesitation, she flung herself into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She resolutely closed her eyes and started counting sheep.

"One … two … what would it be like to spend two and a half years without the other kids? … three … four … five … in some ways it might be nice to be on my own, but I know I'd miss them … six … seven … I don't know why it bothered me so much that Oliver assumed I would stay … eight … I should have been happy, but it still annoys me to think about it … nine … ten … eleven … and do I even want to go to college? … twelve …"

Before she reached thirteen, Gwen was asleep.

* * *

The next few days, the adults in the Glen were all talking about the implications of the king's abdication, but the young fry were more interested in the details of the new king's coronation. As Gwen had predicted, the Midwinter Dance had been hastily turned into a Coronation Ball, though thankfully they could all still wear their frocks from 1910, in remembrance of King George V as well as in honour of King George VI.

"The Americans are lucky," Phil told Gwen. "Their leaders don't all come from the same family, so they all have different names. No numbering."

"So do our Prime Ministers," Gwen pointed out.

"Yes, but we still have to memorize all of England's kings and queens." For all his brilliance at science, Phil was terrible with history.

"I think the Americans have had a few repeats," Gwen said. Her forehead wrinkled, trying to remember. "Weren't two of their early presidents from the same family? And wasn't there a President Roosevelt before this one?"

"I don't know," Phil said indifferently. "It's bad enough trying to keep all our history straight. I'm not going to be bothered with the Yankees' history as well."

Lucy, and most of the girls, was breathlessly glad that King Edward's abdication had not interfered with the dance. To her, the upheaval of an entire monarchy and kingdom was nothing compared to the tragedy it would have been had the dance been cancelled.

Gwen knew, too, that as much as Phil was loathing the event, Lucy was nearly bursting with pride at having him as her escort. Little raven-haired Dotty Reese, the new girl on the track team, had nearly been in tears when she heard Phil had already asked Lucy, and she wasn't alone. Gwen was amazed, and a little amused, at how her brother was considered the best "catch" in the freshmen class, all without him even knowing it.

Fanny was excited about it, too. Though she had some concern for England, she was absolutely determined to make Jack care about her at this dance, and no little abdication was going to spoil it for her. Gwen pitied her friend, for Jack was so absorbed in world affairs that the dance had suddenly become more of a bother to him than anything. If he hadn't promised to take Lynde, she suspected he would have stayed home to pore over his father's newspapers.

As for her, she didn't really care about the dance anymore, either. It just seemed silly in light of everything else happening. Even aside from King Edward—Prince Edward, now—she had heard her elders talking in low voices about the Rome-Berlin treaty signed back in October, and its impact on world affairs. While she didn't really think there could be another war, just the possibility made her shiver, and made her reluctant to think about things like dances—or Oliver Grant, for whom her feelings were still utterly conflicted.

Still, she did have her beautiful white dress, and when she'd written to Mother about it, she'd gotten a long letter back detailing the first party Mother herself had ever worn it to.

"I loved it," the story had concluded simply. "Long after I had outgrown it, and it was out of fashion, I kept it in my wardrobe, to remind me of how beautiful I felt in it, and how Walter had told me I looked like a white lily with a head of flame. Only Walter could make my red hair sound beautiful! I hope that you make as many wonderful memories in that dress as I did, my Gwen."

Gwen hoped so, too. She hoped she wouldn't be humiliated in it, at her very first dance. Despite all her improvements due to running, she was still plagued with a certain amount of clumsiness, and she knew that if she tried dancing any of the new dances, she would trip and fall all over her own and Oliver's feet.

And what of nobody wanted to dance with her at all? Oliver could only ask her three times, at most, without it looking odd. Jean, who was on the planning committee, had told Gwen that they were printing out dance cards, just like they used to have in the old days. Gwen could just see her card, a vast empty wasteland with only a couple names scrawled in out of politeness.

She wasn't sure which would be worse, not dancing because nobody asked her, or dancing and making a fool of herself.

"Don't worry," Lynde told her comfortingly. "I don't care about dancing either, so we can slip out to one of the back rooms and wait there for the evening to be over, if we need."

"Bring some books in your bags," Phil suggested. His face was in a continual state of gloom these days. He wouldn't be able to get out of dancing—he had to do the gentlemanly thing and ask the girls.

"Oh Phil," Gwen laughed. "Our party bags aren't big enough for books!"

"Not even comics?" Jo asked, aghast.

Lynde sniffed. "Those things are trash, Jo. Not worth the eye strain of reading them."

"You only say that because you've never read one," Jo told her. "Boy, am I glad I'm not old enough to go to dances! They sound awfully boring."

"They are," Phil assured him.

"You don't know that for sure, Phil," Gwen said. "You've never been to one, either."

"You don't need to have measles to know they're a miserable disease," Phil said darkly.

* * *

The afternoon of the dance, Gwen and Lynde, accompanied by an awed Lee, went up to Gwen's room to dress for the party. Grandmother slipped in as well, a smile on her face as she watched them brush out their hair and don the old-fashioned stockings and princesse slips.

"It's almost like having my girls young again and getting ready to head off to a dance," she sighed happily. "If I close my eyes, I can pretend that Gwen is Di, and Lynde is Faith."

"I'm sure I don't sound a bit like Mrs. Dr. Blythe," Lynde protested.

Gwen nudged her. "You do if you use your imagination."

Lynde looked from Gwen to Grandmother to starry-eyed Lee. "Oh."

In the pink dress, Lynde looked like a fresh wild rose, and Gwen realized anew how pretty her friend was. There at Ingleside, she almost always had an apron wrapped around her waist, and at school she dressed with severe simplicity. Now, in the old-fashioned gown, her beauty glowed in the soft lamplight.

"Lovely," Grandmother said. "Here, Lynde, let me help you pin up your hair." Her long white fingers were very deft with the brush and pins, and in moments Lynde was transformed into a regular Gibson Girl, with her wheat-flecked brown hair piled high atop her head in a mass of curls.

"Let me get my camera!" Lee cried, jumping up and darting out.

"I hate photographs," Lynde grumbled.

Meanwhile, Gwen slipped into the white gown. Aunt Ruth had taken a few tucks in it to fit it better to Gwen's figure, but other than that had left it as it was. As Gwen fluffed it out, she looked up to find Grandmother's hands stilled in Lynde's hair, an odd expression on her face.

"Goodness," Grandmother whispered. "You carry yourself just as Di always did, but your face … my heavens, child, if you aren't the picture of Phil!"

"Phil?" Gwen asked in confusion.

"Not your brother, dear. Philippa, your Grandmother Blake." As Gwen turned to peer wonderingly in the mirror, Grandmother came up behind her. "Not so much in your features, even … Phil had a crooked little smile, and your nose is much straighter than hers, and her hair and eyes were brown … but her eyebrows were pointed just like yours, and the shape of your eyes is just right, as is your chin and cheeks, and oh, it's just something in your air! I can't think how I never noticed it before."

"Fine feathers make a fine bird," Gwen said self-consciously.

"Nonsense," Grandmother said decisively. "Your beauty has always been there, we've just been too blind to see it. It took a different dress, a different style to shake us out of our laziness." She rested her hands on Gwen's shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Phil was always one of my dearest friends, and still is. I'm delighted to think that a granddaughter of mine carries so much of her into the next generation."

Without another word she began curling and pinning Gwen's hair up as best she could, finishing with the wide gold band Aunt Ruth had provided. Then Lee was back with her camera, insisting on taking snaps of the girls, and then, all too soon, it was time to go downstairs and meet their escorts.

The young men had scrounged in their parents' garrets, too, and though the suits were a bit worn, and had an aura of mothballs around them, they looked very distinguished in the cutaway coats and fancy waistcoats of a bygone era.

Phil had already left to pick up Lucy, so it was just Jack and Oliver, with Jo sitting interestedly nearby, waiting in the parlour, talking to Grandfather. When the girls, Grandmother and Lee trailing behind, entered the room, both boys stopped talking abruptly. Gwen blushed bright red, but Lynde merely smiled serenely, her usual stately air only enhanced by the elegant dress and fancy hairstyle.

"You two look lovely," Grandfather said warmly, coming over to kiss both their cheeks. His words seemed to break the spell; first Jack and then Oliver followed suit, stumbling over their words a little.

"Yes … quite, um, lovely," Jack said, trying not to stare too obviously at Lynde.

"Quite," Oliver choked out.

"Why, thank you," Lynde said. "I think the style back in our parents' day were much nicer than what we have now, don't you?"

"Harder to walk in, though," Gwen said ruefully, having already had to work hard at not tripping over the longer hem.

"More pictures!" Lee said cheerfully, holding up her camera. Lynde groaned, and the boys both flushed, but Grandmother and Grandfather backed Lee up, and so the two couples posed before the fireplace, with Gog and Magog winking solemnly behind them, and Lee snapped away.

Finally she declared that she had enough, the boys helped the girls put their cloaks on, and escorted them outside, where they had hired a sleigh to take them to the town hall.

"Very appropriate," said Lynde, snuggling down into the furs.

"We thought so," Jack said, his usual aplomb starting to return to him. Oliver was still uncharacteristically silent, and Gwen started to worry. Did he hate the way she looked? Was he regretting asking her? Did he wish _he_ had asked Lynde, instead of Jack? The other girl did look almost impossibly elegant, and no matter what Grandmother and the mirror said, Gwen still couldn't make herself believe that she was beautiful.

They arrived at the town hall at the same time as most of the other young people. Watching everyone stream out of sleighs, or walk from their houses in the village, all in old-fashioned dresses and suits, gave Gwen the eerie feeling that she had somehow stepped back in time. Entering the town hall, might she not see Aunt Nan already there, laughing with a much younger and dashing Uncle Jerry? If she looked in the mirror, would her own hair have turned red? For a moment, she was afraid to turn her head, worried that Lynde might really have turned into Aunt Faith, and Jack would be Uncle Jem.

"Looks like a good crowd," said Oliver in her ear, and Gwen breathed out in relief. He, at least, was the same, and therefore so must the rest of them be.

Inside, Lynde and Gwen momentarily parted from the boys to go to the powder room, to fix their hair and exchange their stout boots for party slippers. There they met many of the other girls, all chattering and excited.

"Good heavens, Fanny!" Gwen exclaimed involuntarily. Her friend looked _magnificent_. If Lynde was a wild rose and Gwen a white lily, Fanny was a velvety crimson rose in full bloom.

"You look nice," Fanny said, her cheeks almost as red as her dress with excitement.

"Gwen!" a small voice shrilled across the room, and Gwen turned to see little Lucy bouncing up and down, waving at her. She looked darling in her green satin, with her eyes glowing. "Isn't it all marvellous?"

"I suppose it is," Gwen laughed, suddenly thinking she might enjoy this dance after all. Even if Oliver remained as silent as he had been during the ride, there were plenty of things to see and take in, and she could already feel a story plot fluttering at the edges of her mind.

Plus, with all the other girls in their magnificent garb, she would not really stand out at all!

Yes, Gwen thought, her first dance just might be fun after all.

"Oh look," Lynde said as they came out of the powder room to seek their escorts, "There's Mary. Who's that with her?"

Gwen saw the tall, broad-shouldered young man with the bright head and her heart suddenly gave an odd little squeeze in her chest. "Why, that's Tryg."

"Tryg Ahlberg?" Lynde queried. When Gwen nodded, she said, "Well, I suppose he and Mary must be friends from when they were both kids. All the fishing youngsters and the over-harbour folk are much better friends than either are with the Glen young ones. How nice that she brought him!"

It _was_ nice, and Mary looked very pretty in her blue-grey dress from Aunt Persis. Tryg looked just as at ease in his old-fashioned suit as he did in his overalls and farm boots, and he and Mary caught up with the girls just as Jack and Oliver did. Hellos were exchanged all around, and Jack introduced Tryg and Oliver. The two boys were a study in contrasts as they shook hands: Oliver was dark, slightly built, and shy; Tryg was tall, sturdy, golden and fair, and completely open and forthright.

"Nice to meet you, Oliver," Tryg said easily. "Lynde, it's been a while. Gwen, very nice to see you again."

"You, too," Gwen said. She frowned slightly at Oliver as he moved closer and took her arm possessively.

"Well," Jack said. "I suppose now is when we start signing dance cards?"

"How many are escorts allowed?" Oliver asked, taking Gwen's card in hand.

"Two is usual," Gwen said. "Three at the most."

Oliver immediately wrote his name down for three dances—the first, the middle, and the last. Jack, with a grin, didn't even bother asking, but just wrote his name down twice. Tryg took one ("I don't want to steal all of them from the other fellows," he said amiably); then Phil came and asked for one with the air of a martyr, followed by Van, and before Gwen knew it her card was full.

She stared at it in dismay for a moment. How was she going to dance every single dance? She was going to make such a fool of herself!

The musicians started the strains of the first waltz, and Gwen didn't have any more time to worry about it as Oliver swept her onto the floor, joining all the other couples.

The Glen High's Midwinter Coronation Ball had begun!


	25. Chapter 25

Despite her fears, the dance ended up being one of the loveliest nights Gwen had ever enjoyed. Very few of the girls and boys were familiar with the old-fashioned dances, so she was not alone in her stumbling steps. In fact, the general air of clumsiness left everyone with a friendly, merry feeling as they laughed at each other and themselves. Even Oliver seemed to relax back into treating Gwen as a friend, instead of the awkward air of a possible suitor he had worn before.

When Gwen tripped and stepped on his feet—again—he cut short her apology with a laugh. "You can't say you didn't warn me!"

She flashed him a mischievous grin. "I could still outrun you, at least, even in this dress!"

"I won't take that challenge," Oliver said. "Because I'm sure, too."

"It would be amusing, though, to see everyone stop dancing and start lining up for a race," Gwen mused, glancing around at the whirling couples.

Oliver's laugh rang out again. Gwen realized that when she'd first met him, he'd hardly ever laughed; he was much more relaxed and open now. It made her wonder in what ways she'd changed this year, too.

There wasn't much time for introspective pondering, however. From Oliver she swirled to Jack, to Van, to Phil (she and her brother always danced well together, no matter how clumsy or stiff they were with other people), to half a dozen boys she didn't know …

By the time Tryg came over to claim his dance, Gwen was flushed with exertion and exhausted. He took one look at her over-bright eyes and red cheeks and shook his head.

"Not that I wouldn't enjoy dancing with you, but would you prefer to sit this one out?"

Gwen gave a little gasp of relief. As wonderful of a time as she was having, her feet were slightly larger than Mother's, and the old slippers were pinching her heels and toes just a bit.

"And maybe step out for some fresh air?" she asked hopefully.

Tryg offered her his arm, a courtly, old-fashioned gesture that seemed more natural to him than it did to any of the other boys, even Jack. "This way, my lady," he said, with his blue eyes twinkling.

They stepped outside, and even without her cloak Gwen found she wasn't too cold. The chill air pulled a little at her bare forearms, but it felt refreshing after the stuffy heat of the hall. With the midwinter moon shining down, surrounded by glittering stars, the snow on the ground almost looked silver instead of dull white.

"What a lovely night," Gwen sighed.

Tryg didn't say anything, but his eyes took on a faraway expression Gwen recognized. She felt it on her own face often enough when a new plot or character suddenly burst into her mind.

"You're wishing you had a sketchpad right now, aren't you?"

Tryg blinked and came back to earth. "How did you know?"

Somehow, Gwen didn't mind telling him her secret. He seemed both trustworthy and understanding. "I write, sometimes."

"Stories?" he asked immediately.

She nodded. "I just started this summer. First it was just little fairy tales, but lately I've been trying my hand at some more serious stories. I'm still not very good at them, but I like writing those even more than the fairy tales." She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "After we picked apples at your uncle's farm, I even tried a Viking story."

"Really? How did it go?"

"Dreadfully," Gwen confessed. "I don't know anything about Vikings. It was really just that picture you had on your desk, the one of the boy and the ship, that made me want to write something to go with it."

He was looking at her with an odd expression. Gwen wondered if she'd said too much, but then he said,

"You may have that picture, if you like. And I can lend you some of my books on Vikings, if you want to try it again."

"Thank you," Gwen said, suddenly shy. "I haven't told anybody else about my writing," she hurried on hastily.

"I understand," Tryg said at once. "I don't like to talk about my art, either. Once you start talking about it, it loses some of its magic."

"Yes, exactly." Gwen was so delighted at finding somebody who understood without explanation, that she found herself abruptly spilling out her dilemma regarding whether she should stay in the Glen to finish her schooling or not.

"The practical part of me says 'stay,'" she concluded. "But my heart wants to break every time I consider it. I just wish someone else would tell me what to do."

"You don't need that," Tryg said with a smile. "You know what to do."

"I do?"

"Of course. You're just letting other things cloud your mind. When it comes down to it, there's only one thing you _can_ do."

"And that is?"

"Oh no, I can't tell you that. Only you can know that." Tryg tried to shove his hands into his pockets, realized he was wearing a dress suit, and instead folded his arms across his chest. "Jack keeps trying to convince me to figure out a way to go to college. But I _can't_. It would mean abandoning my mother and sister, and turning my back on my uncle. He doesn't understand what education means to us, but he's a good man who took us in when we had nowhere to go. No matter how much I want to go to college, it's just impossible for me to go. Oh, I'm sure there's a physical way—but _I_ can't go. It's not the act of going that can't happen, it's _me_ going that can't." He shrugged. "This probably doesn't make any sense."

"No, it does," Gwen said slowly. Unconsciously, she folded her arms to mimic Tryg's position. "You mean, even though technically I have two options, in the end, because of who I am, I will only have one. There will only be one choice that is possible for me to make."

"Exactly," Tryg said, nodding for emphasis. "And that one choice isn't something anyone else can tell you, because nobody else knows your heart."

The strains of music floating to their ears from inside the hall stopped, and he twisted around to look back inside. "Looks like our dance is over! I hope I haven't spoiled your night with all this philosophical nonsense."

Gwen smiled. "It isn't nonsense, and I think this has been my favourite dance of all."

"Even better than a waltz?" Tryg teased.

"Especially better than a waltz," Gwen said ruefully, thinking of how bruised her poor feet had gotten in her attempt to waltz with Jack.

The conversation with Tryg really was the high point of the night, but it was fun to go back inside and dance more, and then to enjoy the refreshments and talk about the dancing with the other girls, and even more fun to snuggle back into the furry robes as Jack and Oliver took her and Lynde home. Lynde had, to her surprise, had a marvellous time as well, and she conceded that maybe the doctor had been right in insisting she go.

Then it was home, where Grandmother greeted them with shining eyes, a brief goodnight at the door, and then up to her room to put away the princess, and put on her pyjamas and become plain Gwen again.

As she drifted off to sleep, her last thoughts were not of the radiantly good time dancing she had had, nor of the effusive compliments Oliver had paid, but of a common-sense conversation, and blue eyes shining in the starlight.

* * *

Gwen had been afraid that the dance would change Oliver even more than the simple asking her to go had—that he would start being even more of a suitor instead of friend. With her feelings so changed, from friend to crush back to friend (with, admittedly, a small amount of romance still intermingled with the friendly feelings), she really did not want to have to deal with any stronger feelings on his part. Mother's letters had been very helpful in studying her own feelings; they had been sadly short on advice on how to gently let down an unwelcome suitor.

To her dismay, he showed up at Ingleside the very afternoon after the dance night. Gwen's heart sank down into the tips of her cosy winter boots when she and Phil came back from a tramp through Rainbow Valley to see, through the kitchen windows, Oliver and Jack sitting with Lynde at the big wooden table.

Phil glanced at his sister's face. "Well, you look pleased."

"Sarcasm, Phil?" Gwen said, her voice equal parts rebuke and surprise.

He shrugged with a sheepish grin. "I must be tired still."

"It's not that I don't like Oliver," Gwen said. "But I just wish he would go back to just being my friend."

"You mean, back to how he acted when you wanted him to fall in love with you?"

Gwen raised her shoulders and dropped them again. She was tired, too. "What can I say? I'm a woman; I'm not supposed to be constant."

Phil snorted. "You know what Mother says about people who hide behind their gender to excuse bad behaviour."

Gwen did, indeed. Most of the people in Glen St. Mary _and_ Kingsport knew Di Blythe's view on gender stereotypes.

"Fine, it's not because I'm a woman. It is simply because I'm foolish. Happy?"

"Cranky, Gwen?" Phil asked, imitating her tone from before.

"Yes," she answered simply.

"Well, you can run up to your bedroom, if you like," he offered generously. "I'll go distract the boys."

"No," Gwen said, though she was sorely tempted. "Oliver's an Owl, I'm going to have to face him sooner or later. Better to just act as though everything is normal now, so that he doesn't get any odd ideas."

"Good for you," Phil said. "After all, we'll be going back home in another month, so any strong feelings he has for you should fade away then—and if not, you'll know he is serious, and maybe you'll want to give him another chance."

Gwen didn't say anything. She hadn't told any of her siblings, not even Phil, about Grandmother and Grandfather's offer. She was afraid of how they would react, and that she might make her decision based on them, instead of reason and logic.

They came into the entryway and tugged off their boots and tossed their coats, hats, scarves, and mittens onto the coatrack. Then they came into Lynde's clean kitchen—and stopped.

Jack was perched on the tabletop, reading aloud from a book of poetry he held in his brown hand. Lynde was sitting below him, hands idle for once, clasped together beneath her chin as she listened intently. Oliver sat in another chair, his face full of suppressed mirth.

"Have you ever seen Lynde just sit and listen to poetry before?" Phil whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Gwen could only shake her head in disbelief. It appeared that Jack's interest in Lynde had not been limited to last night—and even more shocking, that Lynde, their practical, no-nonsense Lynde, was reciprocating said interest!

"Are there cookies anywhere, Lynde?" Phil asked mildly.

His question served to break the atmosphere. Jack jumped off the table and shoved the book into his pocket. Lynde leaped up as well, her cheeks rosy.

"Cookies—yes—well, no—I was just about to make a batch," she stammered.

"My fault," Jack said. He was not given to blushing, but even his customary aplomb had been temporarily shaken. "I just wanted to give Lynde a poem we were talking about at the dance, and then I thought of another one she might like to hear, and then the next thing I knew I was reading away."

"As usual," Oliver said. Both Jack and Lynde jumped, as though they had forgotten his presence. He grinned. "Have a nice walk?" he asked the Blakes, giving his other two friends a chance to recover.

"It's a grand day," Phil said. "Cold, but everything is white, crisp, and clean."

"I bet it's beautiful down by the harbour," Oliver said. "Care to go see, Gwen?"

"No thanks," she said, trying to affect an air of indifference. "I really shouldn't even have gone for a walk with Phil. With everything happening, between the dance and the new king, I really haven't been working at my schoolwork like I should. I'm going to have to dig in now if I want to get good grades on my midterms."

"Do you want help with anything?" Oliver asked eagerly.

Gwen smiled and shook her head.

"At least stay until Lynde gets her cookies made."

"Sorry," Gwen said, the colour rising in her cheeks in a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance over his persistence. "But I really need to get to it. I'll see you all later," she added, nodding around at everyone. Jack grinned, but Lynde wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I'll bring you up some cookies when they're done," she muttered to her bowl.

"Thanks," said Gwen, and she retreated from the warm kitchen to the relative safety of her bedroom.

Goodness, if Jack and Lynde were now going to be a couple, and Oliver kept pursuing her … (Gwen still felt uncomfortable over her presumption that he was interested, but he was making it more and more difficult to believe anything else) … things were going to be very difficult around here!

Gwen pulled her books toward her and opened them with determination. She was going to think about school, and only school. Let the others do what they wanted; she would not let romance hinder her goals!

She studied faithfully for half an hour or so, and then Lynde interrupted her, tapping on the door and then coming in with a plate of warm cookies and a mug of hot chocolate.

"Since you won't come downstairs to eat with the rest of us," she said, "I brought your snack to you."

"Thanks," Gwen said absently. She had been deep in the throes of Canadian history, and it was only with difficulty that she pulled herself back to 1936. "Are the boys still here?" she asked, taking a cookie from the plate.

"Y—es," Lynde answered hesitantly. She paused again, and then plopped herself down on Aunt Nan's bed. "Gwen, what am I going to do?"

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked, somewhat hypocritically. She knew exactly what Lynde meant, but she wanted a few moments to think how to best answer her.

"About Jack!"

"Do you like him?" Gwen decided blunt honesty was the best course with Lynde.

Lynde looked down at her clasped hands and rubbed her thumbs together. "I do—but I shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because," Lynde said.

"Because why?" Gwen couldn't understand why her friend was being so shy.

Lynde looked up, and exasperation and frustration were mingled in her expression. "Because he is Jack Blythe, son of Dr. and Mrs. Blythe, grandson to Dr. Blythe, and Rev. Meredith, and I am nothing but his grandparents' hired girl."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Gwen exclaimed. "Is that what's bothering you? Lynde, I've never heard such nonsense. Your great-grandmother Lynde was well-established and respected in Avonlea back when my grandmother was just an orphan taken on by the Cuthberts, and Grandfather was terrorizing the Avonlea schoolgirls. In fact, your great-grandmother had much to do in helping to raise Grandmother, so you could say that without your family, ours wouldn't have turned out the way it did."

"Maybe from one point of view," Lynde admitted, "but from the point of view here in the Glen, Jack is only slightly less important than the Prime Minister of Canada, and I just—cook and clean."

Gwen rose from her chair. She crossed the room to sit down next to her friend, putting her arm around Lynde's shoulder. "Darling, if Jack doesn't care about that, why should you?"

"But what if—what if his parents care? Or your grandparents? They like me well enough now, but if they think I have designs on Jack …"

She did have a point, though Gwen hated to admit it. Jack was the darling of the clan, and Aunt Faith and Uncle Jem in particular thought no one was good enough for their son.

"I don't want to have to leave here and go back to my family," Lynde continued. "But the Blythes won't keep me on if they're worried about me stealing Jack's heart."

"Jack is sixteen, and you are fifteen," Gwen said. "I don't think they're going to be too worried about you suddenly eloping. If they were that worried, they wouldn't have taken you on in the first place. Anyone with an ounce of sense might have suspected that the two of you would end up falling for each other, since you see each other every day and Jack spends so much time here."

"That's true," Lynde conceded, the little worry wrinkle in her forehead starting to smooth out.

"And," Gwen continued, "If they have anything more than an ounce of sense, they'll understand that you are a wonderful person, and that Jack would be lucky to win your heart."

"I wouldn't go that far," Lynde said, but Gwen only laughed and gave her a hug.

"Go back downstairs, Lynde, before Jack comes up here and invades my room demanding to see you."

Lynde smoothed out her apron and stood up. She turned back once right before leaving the room.

"And what about you and Oliver?"

Gwen barely managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "There is no 'me and Oliver,' Lynde. We're just friends."

"Not if he has anything to say about it," Lynde said shrewdly.

"Well, it is if I have any say in it," Gwen countered determinedly.

Lynde shook her head as she went out into the hall. "It's not that easy, Gwen …"


	26. Chapter 26

Christmas was coming. The ground was thickly covered with snow, and Phil, Jo, and Grandfather had travelled for miles to find a gigantic spruce tree for Ingleside's parlour. Lee, Lynde, Gwen, and Grandmother decorated it amidst much laughter and merriment, and then Jo played carols for them all to sing.

People were busy whisking packages in and out, bundling projects under chairs when certain people walked by, whispering secrets and plots. Lynde's kitchen was filled with incredible smells, and Gwen suspected that Jack would have spent almost as much time in there even if he wasn't falling in love with Lynde. Certainly Jo spent enough time in there, much to the would-be beau's dismay. Hints, as Mother used to say ruefully, were completely lost on Jo.

It should have been a merry time, and it would have been, save for one thing: Gwen missed Mother and Dad more and more fiercely with each passing day. They had managed to get through each child's birthday without too much difficulty, but Christmas was the holiday around which they had built all their family traditions, and it just seemed wrong to prepare for it without them.

Gwen wanted to talk to Mother about Oliver, becoming more uncomfortably lover-like with each passing day, despite all her best efforts to discourage him. She wanted to show off her running to Dad, see if he was really as proud of her as he wrote. She wanted to tell them—_tell_ them, not write—about Phil's scholastic triumphs, how he was the best student in the freshman class. She wanted to see their faces when Lee opened the dress that Gwen had made for her, all by herself, without even Aunt Ruth's help. She wanted them to hear how Jo's piano playing had improved so much since Grandmother Meredith had started teaching him.

In short, Gwen wanted her parents home now, not in a month's time. January was too late—Christmas would be done by then.

It was not to be thought of, though. No amount of wanting would get them home any sooner, so Gwen raised her pointed chin and went about her holiday preparations _determined_ to make everyone else happy. And soon, she found she was able to push the ache over her parents' absence to the back of her heart, distracted by all the bustle and preparations.

She didn't realize that she wasn't alone in her yearning after home until one rare afternoon when she and Phil were alone together, studying in Ingleside's parlour. The other Owls were gathered at Aunt Faith and Uncle Jem's house, but Phil had a bit of a cold and Grandfather didn't want him trekking into the village, and Gwen stayed home to keep him company.

She looked up dreamily from her history just in time to hear her brother sigh gustily.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned. "Is it your throat? Shall I ask Lynde to fix you another cup of hot lemon and honey?"

He made a face. Though most of the Blake children loved that remedy for a sore throat, Phil thought it absolutely disgusting, and always insisted he would rather have the pain. "No thanks," he said scratchily. "No, I was just missing … oh, never mind."

"Missing what?" Gwen asked, of course.

Phil blew his nose into his handkerchief. "Missing all the Christmas music playing on the radio."

From early in December until the New Year, the Blakes constantly had Christmas music ringing through the house—either the radio or the phonograph. Dad was a passionate lover of music, and Mother of Christmas, and between the two of them they kept the house filled with the sounds of the holiday. Here at Ingleside, Grandmother considered any music but that played or sung by themselves unacceptable. "Fake" music, she called it.

"I even miss Mother's horrible Christmas cookies," Phil said, laughing a little.

Gwen laughed too. "At least with a head cold you wouldn't be able to smell the four batches she always burns before getting one that's edible!"

"At least Aunt Jenny always kept us stocked in Christmas goodies."

"I could help her this year, if we were home," Gwen said brightly. Her cooking lessons with Aunt Ruth had made her brave enough even to work with her finicky aunt. Then she remembered that possibly she be spending every Christmas here at Ingleside from now until she graduated high school, and she fell silent, chewing her lower lip.

"A year is a long time," Phil said irrelevantly.

"Yes," Gwen agreed. They shared a quick, sympathetic smile, and went back to their studies.

That night, Jo said something in his prayers about "Please God, send Mummy and Dad home soon," and the next morning Lee burst into tears over the fact (though she had known for ages) that Mother wouldn't be there to see her performance as the Christmas Angel in the church play that night, and Gwen realized that they all missed Mother and Dad more than they wanted to admit.

Christmas was a week away, and it just didn't feel like Christmas at all.

* * *

Not only was Lee the Christmas Angel, but Owen and Leigh were in the play as well—Owen as a very mischievous Chief Shepherd, and Leigh as part of the general chorus. Jo had been asked to participate as well, but he refused flatly. He had stopped being part of the church plays when he was seven, despite the fact (or because of it) that he was the minister's son. Nobody quite knew why, as he generally loved performing, but when Jo made up his mind, he was unshakeable.

With three of their own in it (plus Winnie and Ruthie as children in old Bethlehem), all the Blythes were at the church that night, plus Lynde. The Grants were Episcopalian, but Oliver and his younger brother Bobby were both there to watch their friends. Fanny was there as well; several of her siblings were performing. While Oliver immediately came over to greet the Blythes and Blakes, Fanny ostentatiously ignored them. She had refused to speak to Gwen ever since it became obvious that Jack and Lynde were seeing each other.

Gwen wasn't sure why Fanny was angry with _her_ over that … she certainly hadn't forced them together … but she saw the friendship wither away with little more than a faint pang and a philosophical shrug of her shoulders. Fanny may have been one of her first-ever girl friends, but a friendship that couldn't withstand rumours or broken hearts wasn't much of a friendship to begin with. She would rather have Mary's strong practicality, or Lynde's steadiness, or even the light-hearted but resolute friendship of the other girls on the team.

Even Chloe's open enmity was better than Fanny's hot-and-cold attitude!

The play went beautifully. Lee was a darling Christmas Angel, and her sweet-voiced solo was widely considered the highlight of the evening, with a less-reverent minority in favour of Owen's many ad-libbed lines as the Chief Shepherd. Aunt Persis tried to look cross with her offspring, but she could barely keep from laughing aloud as he and Tim Douglas (as a sheep) chased each other around the stage in a riotous scene that most definitely had not been written into the script. Owen's expression of comical horror as his sheep stole his crook and tried to swipe him with it was priceless, even the most disapproving had to admit.

"That boy has a future in performance," Uncle Bruce muttered. "The Marx brothers have nothing on him."

Despite spending much of her time trying to avoid Oliver, Gwen had a good time. She had an even better time on the walk home, enjoying the crisp air and the shining stars in the black velvet sky, walking arm-in-arm with Lee and thinking fondly of the hot chocolate and cookies Lynde had made for them all to have when they got back.

"Goodness!" Grandmother said, jerking Gwen out of her reverie. "Whoever could be at the house?"

Gwen looked ahead. Sure enough, the lights were all on downstairs at Ingleside; when they had left that evening, they had only kept the kitchen light on.

"Burglars!" Owen said hopefully.

"Burglars who considerately turn on the lights to advertise their presence?" Uncle Shirley asked dryly. "Most likely Mary Douglas or Gertrude Grant decided to pop in, and turned on the lights while waiting."

Then two figures stepped out onto the verandah and began to wave. The four Blake children stopped short. They knew those silhouettes, even though they hadn't seen them in almost a year and weren't expecting to see them for another month.

Lee began to cry—tears of joy this time. Phil let out a strangled whoop, followed immediately by a cough. Gwen stood as though she were frozen in time. Jo, however, leapt into the air and came down running.

"_Mummy_!"

The smaller of the two people ran off the verandah herself to meet him in the road and sweep him into her arms. Phil and Lee started to run next, and were met by their father, who tried to gather both of them into his arms at once. Finally, Gwen's paralysis wore off, and she moved forward on numb feet, following the rest of the group.

After Grandmother and Grandfather were done hugging and exclaiming, and the aunts and uncles and cousins had their share, finally Gwen was able to see her parents face-to-face. They didn't look different at all—Mother was still tall and queenly, with her beautiful hair and eyes and laughing face. Dad was still short, handsome, and kind. Gwen couldn't believe she was seeing them at last, after all these months.

"Oh," Mother said, enveloping her in a warm, sweet-scented hug. "My Gwen! Darling, how you've changed!"

"Really?" Gwen managed to croak.

"You've grown into a woman, my dearest. Mother, how could you let such a thing happen while I was away?"

"I couldn't stop her," Grandmother said with a smile. "Jon, doesn't she look like your mother now?"

"The very image," Dad said, hugging Gwen in his turn.

"How are you here?" Gwen asked, still stunned. She was afraid she was going to cry, simply out of joy and relief and surprise.

"We got lonely for you, all at once, and decided to change our tickets to come home early," Mother said, her hands back on Gwen's shoulders as she studied her face. "Do you mind?"

Suddenly, the desire to cry passed, and Gwen began to laugh. "Mind? Oh Mums, this is the best Christmas present _ever_!"

* * *

Nobody got to bed until very late that night; it felt like Christmas had come early. Everyone had a year's worth of news to share: Mother and Dad wanted to hear all about everything that had happened in the Glen; Grandmother and Grandfather Meredith wanted to know all about Aunt Una; Grandmother and Grandfather Blythe wanted to hear about Mother and Dad's time overseas; Uncle Jem wanted to know what the medical situation was in India; Aunt Faith joined her parents in asking for news of Una; Uncle Bruce, Aunt Ruth, Uncle Shirley, and Aunt Persis just wanted to catch up on everything. The cousins were all clamouring to hear about how glamourous it had been overseas, and the four Blake children just wanted to sit near their parents and soak in the reality that they were finally back.

Finally, Grandmother looked at the clock and exclaimed in dismay. "Goodness, we will never get up in the morning at this rate!"

"I certainly hope no patients come in first thing tomorrow with unusual symptoms," Uncle Jem said, and Uncle Bruce chuckled in agreement.

Aunt Faith groaned. "Oh, and I still have that final exam I have to finish and send out for my nursing course."

Everyone else began to remember how much they still had to do the next day, as well, and Mother and Dad confessed they were worn out from the trip.

"But," Mother said, smoothing her hand over Lee's curly head in her lap, "We promise that we will spend the entire day tomorrow with you four, just getting caught up."

Dad stood up with a groan. "After we sleep for twelve hours," he joked. "These old bones need some rest!"

"Twelve hours?" Jo said in dismay. "But we won't see you until _lunchtime_ then!"

"Well, maybe just ten," Dad conceded. "After all, you lot will have to sleep, too."

Gwen didn't care how long they slept; it was enough for her that they were there. Even after they all went to bed and the lights were out, she hated to fall asleep, for fear she would wake up and this all would prove to be a dream.

Even with her restless night, she was the third one up in the morning—only Grandfather and Lynde beat her. Phil joined her on the staircase, and just like on their very first morning at Ingleside, the two eldest Blake children ate breakfast alone with their grandfather, with Lynde serving them and refusing to sit.

Grandfather chuckled.

"What's the joke?" Phil inquired.

Grandfather's keen hazel eyes twinkled above the rim of his coffee cup. "I was just remembering our first breakfast, and how poor Gwen had to choke down that cup of black coffee. Just look at her now!"

Gwen had to laugh as well. She had been drinking black coffee with her breakfast for so long that she had ceased to think about it; it was as much a part of her daily routine as brushing her teeth and making her bed.

"I think, perhaps, I should celebrate Mother and Dad being home by _finally_ allowing myself a little cream and sugar," she said. Grandfather's eyes twinkled more than ever, but he didn't say anything as she carefully added two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of cream to the inky brew. She leaned forward and sniffed it.

It smelled and looked heavenly. Even though she was used to the taste of black coffee now, and even enjoyed it, she could only imagine how delicious it would be with the added sweetener. She raised it to her lips and took a sip.

"Euchh!"

Gwen had all she could do to keep from spitting it out. It was _disgusting_. Weak, overly sweet … it didn't taste like coffee at all.

Grandfather laughed outright. "Too late! You should have allowed yourself the cream and sugar from the beginning. Now you're stuck with drinking it black."

Lynde came in, whisked the offending cup away, set a new one in its place, and vanished into the kitchen again.

"Oh well," Gwen sighed, picking up the cup and drinking half its contents at once, trying to erase the lingering taste of the sugary coffee, "It was a nice thought."

Phil just shook his head. "I am never going to drink coffee."

"Not even when you get to college and have to stay awake for exams?" Grandfather teased.

"Not even then," Phil said adamantly. "Dad says it's a bad habit, and I agree."

Gwen made a face at him. "It may be a bad habit, but it tastes delicious."

"You didn't think so last year."

"That," Gwen said primly, "Was because I was just a _child_." She couldn't keep a straight face, and at her laughter the other two joined in.

"Well," Dad said, slipping into the dining room. "There's a pleasant sound!"

"Dad!" Gwen leapt up and gave him a hug. "What are you doing awake so early?"

He grinned. "Couldn't sleep. Can you believe it? The most comfortable bed I've been in for a year, and it's too comfortable. My body got used to thin, lumpy mattresses, and now I'm going to have to accommodate myself to luxury again. In the meantime, I thought I would enjoy breakfast with my two eldest—and my father-in-law, of course." Then he caught sight of Gwen's half-empty cup. "Oh, Gwen! Not coffee! Tell me you didn't!"

He couldn't understand why the other three all started to laugh again.


	27. Chapter 27

Gwen didn't get her special time with Mother and Dad until that evening. By unspoken mutual agreement, she faded into the background so they could spend the day with the other three, and she waited until dinner was over before joining them for a walk in Rainbow Valley.

Phil and Grandfather were playing checkers; Lee was upstairs wrapping presents; Jo was in the kitchen helping Lynde frost more Christmas cookies; and Grandmother was in the parlour dreaming before the open fire, hands clasped about her knees in the old way. Mother, Dad, and Gwen were free to throw on some wraps and slip outside.

"Good old Rainbow Valley," Dad said. "Nothing in India compared to this."

Mother didn't say anything, but her eyes shone luminously in the moonlight. Gwen watched out of the corner of her eye as her father reached for Mother's hand, and they walked on as romantically as youngsters.

"I suppose you two had lots of moonlit rambles here when you were courting?" she asked mischievously.

"Not so many as you might think," Dad replied gravely, only a deep dimple at the corner of his mouth showing his amusement. "We met in college, remember, and then came the War, and it wasn't until I came home injured that I was able to visit Ingleside."

"We did plenty of moonlight rambles after we were engaged, though," Mother said happily, squeezing Dad's hand.

"I almost feel like I should leave you two alone," Gwen said, half-joking and half-serious.

"Nonsense!" Mother exclaimed at once. "Dearest Gwen, your father and I have had each other all to ourselves for a year; we haven't had a chance to talk with our eldest daughter in all that time. Tell us everything, daughter dear—everything, that is, that you want to share." She smiled. "I know there are some things young women would rather not tell their parents."

"I don't have any secrets I need to keep from you," Gwen said fondly, and proceeded to share with her parents all about her running; her cooking and sewing lessons with Aunt Ruth and Lynde; her improving grades; even her broken friendship with Fanny.

"It isn't as though I deliberately set out to push Jack and Lynde together," she ended. "And I had nothing to do with it, really! It just happened that Lynde and I got ready for the dance together, and so now apparently Fanny thinks I betrayed her."

Mother sighed. "I never had much luck with girl friends, either," she said ruefully. "They all either moved away or proved to be false friends. I did hope you children would not inherit my ill luck."

"But what happened this summer to drive a wedge between you in the first place?" Dad asked, watching Gwen keenly. "And does it have anything to do with why both Phil and Jo hemmed and hawed and hedged their way out of talking about anything much this summer?"

"Oh—well—that," Gwen faltered.

"I thought you said you had no secrets?" Mother asked lightly.

Gwen looked down at the contrast her dark boots made against the white snow. "It isn't a secret—it just seems so silly."

"We like to hear everything, even the silly parts," Dad prompted.

"But only if you feel comfortable telling us," Mother added.

Gwen stuffed her hands inside her coat pockets and told them. She even told them about her crush on Oliver, and how that had precipitated the problems with Chloe. Mother, of course, had already known about _that_ part, but Dad's face changed and he had to swallow violently once or twice.

"It ended up working out, though," she said as she finished. "I mean, I'm still not happy about getting mad like that, but it did result in Isaiah and me becoming friends, and Jack dealt effectively with Chloe, and everything settled back down. Mrs. Douglas even apologized to me in public, and now I get free ice cream at the pharmacy any time I want—Grandmother and Grandfather can't for the life of them figure out why, since nobody ever dared breathe a hint to them about the rumours.

"And Dad, it was good for my crush on Oliver, too," she hastened to add. "When even he believed the lies, well, I didn't stop liking him at once, but it was the start, and now I don't think of him as anything more than just a friend. Really."

"That's good," Dad said calmly.

"And even though Fanny and I aren't really friends anymore, I did end up becoming closer with the girls on the team because of it all, and I even … I even discovered a new love. No, not a person, Dad!" seeing the expression on his face change from relief to fresh alarm. "I discovered that I love to write, to tell stories, to string words together to make a beautiful picture … and I never would have known about it if I hadn't had to write that story for Jo-Jo."

"I'm glad for that," Mother said. "But oh … the sins of the mothers."

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.

Mother explained.

When they had all been young, before the War, she and Uncle Walter had been best friends. Aunt Rilla was always jealous, because she loved Uncle Walter and didn't want to share him with Mother.

"Then the War started, and we were away at school, and Walter and I drifted apart," Mother said sadly, staring off into the night. Gwen saw Dad's hand tighten around hers, as though for comfort. "He started turning to Rilla, who unabashedly worshipped him, while I, I am ashamed to admit, didn't have much time to spare for his troubles. I was busy with school, and trying to help Nan keep up her courage with Jerry gone, and while I loved Walter as dearly as ever, I didn't have much patience for what I saw as his self-absorption. If he didn't want to fight, I thought, fine. Find some other way to help, instead of wandering about bemoaning what a coward he was.

"Rilla, though … Rilla listened to him with endless patience, and told him over and over again how wonderful he was and … well, it's no wonder he turned to her, the adoring baby sister, rather than the sister who told him in exasperation that he was being selfish and foolish."

Mother fell silent for a moment.

"But what does all this have to do with us now?" Gwen ventured to ask after a moment or two.

"Oh well—after Walter was—was killed—Rilla went about pluming herself on being his favourite sister, and showing how brave she was for comforting Mother and Father while her heart was broken, while Nan and I were off gallivanting in Kingsport. No, that's not fair. She never _said_ anything of the sort, and she really was crushed by Walter's death, but that was the impression she gave to me when I came home. Thinking about it now, it was most likely just her grief and anger at his death working its way out at its nearest target, but at the time, I was in too much pain myself to see it that way. We exchanged sharp words—she accused me of never really loving Walter—I told her that Walter had _always_ loved me best, even when he had turned to her for momentary comfort—and well, we never really got on at all after that. Even now, we're only ever polite to each other at family functions. I love Rilla as my sister … but I don't really like her as a person, I'm afraid to say."

Gwen couldn't imagine ever having that sort of relationship with one of her siblings. Imagine if she and Lee ever fought like that! It was unthinkable.

"I had hoped that our animosity would limit itself to just the two of us," Mother continued. "But I see now that some of it transferred itself to our children. I am sorry, Gwen."

"Oh Mums, it's not your fault," Gwen exclaimed. "I don't think Chloe dislikes me because of you—it's just me."

"Maybe, but I'm sure there's some latent hostility from Rilla," Mother said.

"Well," Gwen said firmly, "Maybe so, but at least Isaiah and I have broken the pattern. We're friends now, Mum, really-truly friends, and I don't think we'll let anyone come between us now."

Mother laughed that beautiful laugh Gwen loved so well, and put her arm around Gwen's shoulder for a warm hug. "I am glad, my Gwen. You do me proud!"

"And I'm proud of you, too," Dad said quietly, but with a note in his voice that made Gwen's eyes tear up. "You and Phil both. You handled the situation extremely well—even with your Blake temper—and no father could be more proud."

"Now," Mother said, surreptitiously passing Gwen her handkerchief. "Tell us more about the writing, and why you haven't said anything about it in your letters!"

"And then," Dad said, "We need to talk about what your decision is about where you'll be spending the next few years."

Gwen dabbed at her eyes and passed the handkerchief back to Mother. "Yes," she said. "We do need to talk about that. I've finally made up my mind."

* * *

Christmas came and went in all its glory, even more lovely this year than anyone could have hoped, because Mother and Dad were there. On Boxing Day, when they were all sitting around the parlour roasting nuts on the fire and eating popcorn, Grandfather brought up the subject of Gwen's schooling.

"So, Gwen," he said casually. "Where are you going to be after the new year?"

"Why, with us in Kingsport," Lee said in astonishment. "Where else would she be?"

Gwen winced. She had meant to let her siblings know beforehand about their grandparents' offer, and her decision. After telling Mother and Dad what she wanted to do, though, she had felt such relief that she'd forgotten about telling anyone else.

"Actually Lee-love," Dad said lightly, coming to Gwen's rescue, "Grandmother and Grandfather offered to let Gwen stay with them a bit longer."

"Why?" Jo asked bluntly.

"To continue her running, and to help with her school," Mother jumped in. "You all know what a hard time she had back home."

"But—would we stay, too?" Lee asked in confusion.

"Just Gwen," Dad said gently. Lee looked ready to cry. Jo simply looked astonished that they had managed to keep this a secret from him. Phil's face was unreadable.

"Are you going to stay, then?" he asked gruffly.

The Owls were over as well, and there was no disguising the eagerness in Oliver's eyes as he leaned forward to hear the answer.

Gwen looked around the circle of faces. Most of them, even her family, had been practically strangers to her before this year. Now, though …

Aunt Ruth, Uncle Bruce, Ruthie and Winnie. They had been such a comfort to her while she was outcast, and Aunt Ruth had helped her grow into a comfortable sense of who she was as a woman, as well as helping her learn to control her limbs.

Uncle Shirley, Aunt Persis, Leigh, and Owen. Dear relatives, and delightful friends.

Uncle Jem, Aunt Faith, and Jack sitting with his hand wrapped around Lynde's. Uncle Jem and Aunt Faith hadn't exactly been _delighted_ over Jack's sudden affection for Lynde—Gwen suspected they both hoped the two young people would outgrow it—but neither of them voiced their disapproval, or treated Lynde any differently than they always had. They were dear to her, and Jack and Lynde were dearer yet.

The Owls, good friends and comrades. Oliver, her first taste of romance. He had sent her Christmas roses the previous day, leading her to a brand-new suspicion about who it was who had sent her roses on her birthday last March. She would never ask him about it, but … somehow it seemed even more likely than Grandfather.

Grandmother and Grandfather Meredith, purity and strength hidden behind their quiet exteriors. Grandmother and Grandfather Blythe, so very dear and sweet.

Her eyes landed finally on her siblings: sweet Lee looking so worried now; puckish Jo frowning fiercely, not bothering to hide his dislike for the idea of her not going home with them; Phil, her other half, trying to look unconcerned.

And, of course, Mother and Dad, who could have been strangers after a year apart, but were instead become even better friends.

"I'm going home," she said, smiling. "Back to Kingsport."

Lee clapped her hands, Jo jumped into the air, Phil withdrew into the shadows to hide his face, and Oliver's jaw dropped.

"But what about running?" Jack asked curiously.

Gwen shrugged. "I'll find a way to keep it up. And if not, well, becoming an Olympic runner isn't worth losing over two years with my family."

"What about school, though?" Grandfather asked, his eyes reflecting his disappointment even as he kept his voice carefully neutral.

Gwen's face hardened into determination. "I'll just have to work harder, that's all. If an education is really something I want, then I can't let poor teachers stand in my way." She softened her voice. "I do appreciate it, Grandfather—and Grandmother—but in the end, this was the only chance I could have made." Her mind flashed back to the conversation she'd had with Tryg, at the dance, and to the picture of a lone warrior aboard a Viking ship now sitting on her desk. "My heart won't let me do anything else."

Grandmother rose and kissed her forehead. "Then you are absolutely right in going back, my dear."

"Thank you," Gwen smiled at her gratefully.

Uncle Shirley, with tactfulness born of years of shyness, turned the subject then, and they spoke no more of Gwen's choice.

Later on, though, Oliver caught Gwen in the kitchen as she carried a stack of dirty dishes in.

"I can't believe you're throwing your future away like this," he said in disgust.

"I'm not," Gwen said calmly, stacking the dishes next to the sink. "I'm just taking a different path, that's all."

"But, Gwen," he persisted, reaching for her hand. "What about _us_?"

Gwen eluded his grasp. "We can still be friends, can't we?" she asked, deliberately misunderstanding him.

He wouldn't be deterred. "That's not what I mean, and you know it," he said, his dark eyes burning with intensity.

"It is what I mean," Gwen said steadily, meeting his gaze without flinching.

He winced and dropped back. "Very well, then," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I guess I'll see you next summer."

He vanished out the kitchen door, not even bothering to get his coat, and the last Gwen saw of him was his back rapidly vanishing down the road. She felt a pang of guilt, but mostly she felt relief that everything was out in the open, and he was no longer labouring under any kind of misapprehension about their relationship.

"Gwen?"

She turned away from the window and smiled gratefully at her brother. "Phil?"

He crossed the room and surprised her by giving her a fierce hug. "I'm glad you're coming back with us," he said. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She hugged him back. "Or I you."

They went back to the parlour with their arms around each other. Gwen knew that she would miss everyone here, when she was back in Kingsport, but she couldn't find it in her to feel even the smallest amount of regret over her decision.

For as much as she loved everyone and everything here, nothing could compare with her family. It had been a wonderful year, but she was excited too about going home, starting fresh, rising to new challenges. It wouldn't always be easy, she knew, but her triumphs would be all the sweeter for having to work harder for them. Her place, for now, for this season of her life, was with her family.

Nowhere else.

_**The End

* * *

**_

_**Author's Note: **_And so we come to an end ... and also a new beginning! Thank you all so much for joining me in this new journey, exploring a new vision of the Blythe family. Many of you have commented that as much as you liked Meggie, you prefer Gwen even more. Maybe, as their creator, I shouldn't say this, but ... so do I. Gwen &Co. have wound their way around my heart like very few characters I ever created have! I do have in mind a few more stories regarding Gwen, so this is not goodbye forever to them.

Thank you again for all the reviews and encouragement you have all given. There's very little that delights me more than knowing that characters I have created have touched other' lives.

-Elouise


End file.
